Sitting in a comfy leather chair, wrapped in a fluffy down blanket while the rain falls this early Sunday morning, and all I can feel is the unasked for restlessness that seems to seep into the most unexpected moments. The kids have been unusually quiet this morning, drawing, cutting, creating, which is perhaps why I am able to feel what is always there but drowned out by the general chaos of everyday life with loud little boys. Sitting here so snugly I have to wonder how I could want anything else though~ what is it that bubbles so relentlessly, so familiarly, that makes me want to be somewhere else so permanently…? I read a blog of my friend’s today who is living in some African nation, alone, teaching English and experiencing life in the way that makes so much sense to me. He spoke beautifully of the isolation he feels and it made me realize that I feel that exact same isolation almost all the time, but when I travel it is far more interesting and real. I long to travel, not just travel but live other places for periods of time. The friends I made while traveling always seemed so much more real than the ones I’ve met in conventional lifestyles. Why is that? The similar situations of travelers? The common needs? The fact that people are not settled into a certain life and assuming that certainty will continue forever. People nestled into their suburban existence and believing that the job they have, or the kind of car they have, or what their children do are the most important things in their lives. It is such a hard thing for me, to go along with this act when really my soul is not into it. It pulls at me because yes, I do worry about the boys’ schooling and jobs, (though I truly despise cars) it just seems so…silly really in the grand scheme of things. But I get sucked in, even this past week finally succumbing to the bombardment of “must get flu shot” mania and have been sick ever since. Still, I think, should I get the boys shots? Lemming-thoughts. It is all such a game. I remember how desperately I missed individualism when I lived in Prague. Everyone looked the same, dressed the same, discussed the same ideas. Now I see there are just pockets of sameness in America~ the eastside may be different from the westside but everyone needs to feel like they fit in. Maybe that is all it is, the only times I felt like I really fit in were times I was traveling. Maybe that is all I miss. Maybe that is all that is really important in life after all. Trivial? Or not? I know this comfortable-ness will not last.