Tonight we drove to Heber. John intended to have dinner at The Dairy Keen…Preen…Lean? I forget, but it was “Closed for Vacation,” so instead, we went to The Hub. As we walked in I was immediately inundated with the sight of flannel, bear statues, and paintings of moose and horses waiting near what I can only presume to be occupied outhouses. Some of the conversations I was hearing were a bit entertaining: more than anything, I was struck by the fact that everyone knew each other. At first I was having a lot of fun, looking at the old jukebox and wondering what I should order. However, as we walked to our table, it seemed like everyone was staring at us. And not just us, specifically me. It wasn’t some weird “the only girl in the room” situation, there were plenty of people. It was just clear, all of a sudden, that I didn’t belong. This led to an important realisation that set off an evening of obsessive introspection: I don’t belong anywhere. I was born in a Navy town in Connecticut, moved to California, South Carolina, Massachusetts, Pennsylvania, London, and finally Utah. There were a few repeats in there, for instance, we moved back to Connecticut in between some other places early on- all in all I have never lived more than 3 years in any one place. I changed high school the summer before my senior year. I left to serve a mission for my church the summer before I would have graduated from my first University. That’s not the point: however. The point is that I have never found a place that I just fit. I found myself sitting in a restaurant surrounded by people who fit- I could tell that their souls simply jived with Heber. They had relationships with the people, they had jobs and past times and favourite restaurants. Now, I have had all of these things in many places, and yet I move on. Why?
I had a couple of theories. Maybe, just maybe, it has something to do with the mind/body problem. We ARE indeed simply minds with bodies, and our bodies are made of the elements of earth. We are destined to wander until we find the piece of ground we originated from. Perhaps I’m made of a little bit of everywhere.
That seemed a little religiously sci fi.
I started to put together “clues” from my life: my fascination with maps, my hesitancy to acquire large permanent-type items of furniture, my anxiety over two-year gym contracts or housing plans.
I wonder if I’m destined to be nomadic. I wonder if I’ll move every three years of my life forever.
It may seem silly- but to tell you the truth it was all very distressing. I figured that writing it all out would make it plain- I would realise that it wasn’t really that big of a problem after all. But I think it may be true. And I wonder where I’ll fit, or if I will.
I had written some thoughts of this nature down on a napkin from The Hub. Sensing that I was upsetting myself, John confiscated it and asserted that I fit with him. I’m grateful for that. It gives me hope. He owns some large pieces of furniture. Maybe one day I’ll find my place. In the meantime, we’ll just let these questions be the napkin in his pocket (metaphorically, as he actually returned the napkin to me at the library tonight)…
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