Mixed up.

I’ve been thinking about places this week, how I was here at school but then I was home. Then I came back. Then I went to the woods for a weekend and then I came back to school.

I’m all mixed up because at school you check items off the never-ending to-do list. At home you sleep in your own bed, wake up to the smell dad-made coffee, eat at a table with people who’ve known you your entire life, and hug people. In the woods, you sit on a broken tree and contemplate death and life and how the trees go through cycles of that and how you go through cycles of that and my, aren’t your fingers cold since it’s snowing, and you write it all down. Then you come back to school and re-work your resume.

See what I mean? Place determines what you do, how you feel, how you feel about what you do, and what you do about how you feel. It determines your diet, your activities, your sleep, your waking moments, your soul state.

I’m not sure where I’m going with this, but it seems like where I am determines who I am. Not that I’m amorphous but that I’m multi-faceted. I bet you are, too.

Maybe part of growing up is figuring out how to manipulate place so that I can be all things in all places. Or maybe part of growing up is knowing that I can’t.

Maybe it’s more about being where I am.

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