I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.

John Masefield

The Journey continues. Physically and mentally. I seem to be drifting from Bangor roots, to effectively un-moored. And the question becomes, is that a good thing?

I think it isn’t necessarily bad. But it does feel like another loss. It is another loss. But it also seems like a good change. When I travel for pleasure, I get to see the variety of the country that has always enticed me. I do cover way more ground than would have been approved by Janelle. And she was wise. I’ve got one mad-cap trip coming up, and then I seem ready to yield to Janelle’s better judgement. Yield, but still I’ll roam.

When I travel for work, my boss spins the big wheel and decides where I go next. A grab-bag of travel. And on deployment, most everyone around me is a transient. There is a strong inclination by all to find ways to spend time after work. A grab bag of new friends, with new interests. And I get to do good work.

So I tell myself this is a good thing. But there are those, including me occasionally, that worry that I am just running from grief. I take the concern seriously enough that I spent some time with the stress counselor today. I shared the leaning toward nomad-ism. And the grief that comes without warning and raises fleeting questions of “why struggle”. The erratic sleep. Which, after a re-read, sounds pretty grim. It isn’t that bad. When the grief comes it will have its way. But that continues to diminish in frequency. And I am much better able to share what are becoming fond memories rather than sad memories.

What I heard (versus whatever he may have said), was that I seemed to be taking a little longer than most men my age on the grief. Not of concern, just not the middle of the bell curve. Probably mixed in with a little depression. And the wandering was almost stereo-typically normal. Not exactly a ringing endorsement. But it seems to leave me free to do as I like.

Which brings me back to the beginning. Our condo is so convenient (for me), so favorably located, and very hard to replicate. But it seems like I won’t be spending much time there in the near term. Maybe rent it? Sell it? But am I ready to go so far as not having a home base? And what do I do with all my, and Janelle’s, stuff? I can sell/dump some and divvy some up in the family. But there is quite a bit that I’m not ready to give up. Especially true if there is a plausible chance that I reconsider my choices, and want to have a kitchen again.

Not to mention the friends I still have in Bangor. Though that list continues to shrink.

Thanks for reading this far. As almost always, typing helps order my thoughts. It seems the nomad way is the way for a while. But I should continue to avoid making irreversible decisions on personal possessions. And perhaps I’m still too young to need to decide what I want to do when I grow up.