Belonging to Nowhere
I used to meditate and not know it. I used to love taking the time to be mindful and present. I now understand that I meditated out of necessity back then and plan on meditating daily soon enough.
In the chaos of my parent's divorce, when everything seemed to be drifting away, even a minute of quiet was rare. The travel process began by intricately packing a vacation bag every week, being flown from one house to another, but in a car and only to the neighboring city, and saying to myself, "Every week is going to be new and exciting." That wore off sooner than I planned. My vacation was short lived.
Months go by. I end up haphazardly stuffing my bag - half with clean clothes, the other half I was unsure about. Being in the backseat of a car always made me nauseous, but by now I was used to teetering the line of vomiting. Every week was new and exciting, but only because of the varying arguments, feelings, and mumbling.
I couldn't change my family. I couldn't stop the never-ending trips back and forth. I couldn't stop yearning for a sense of belonging - regardless of how much my parents tried to fill that void. Everything was out of my control. It was then, 2 years later, I realized that my thoughts, my feelings, and my actions were in my control. I couldn't change my surroundings, but I could change the way I thought about them.
At the age of 16, I didn't know I was meditating. I just knew I could drive to the middle of Nowhere, look up at the stars, and feel everything around me. The wind rushing through the wheel wells of my first car, nature's creatures talking to each other, the cadence of the distant traffic. It was all alive. I was alive.
I decided I would drive to different Nowheres every night, and each night, Nowhere was home. Soon I realized that Nowhere was inside of me - that Nowhere could exist anywhere.
Coming from a mother who's known for her outgoing spirit (and by outgoing, I mean loud laughter, incessant chatter, and an obviously full heart) and a father whose silence speaks volumes (silence that you could decrypt by a subtle nod of the head or gesture for a hug, knowing his heart was full as well), I never know which day is my extroverted day and which is my introverted day. It could vary by the hour even. The conflicting nature of these two humans created me, and while I'd like to think that gives me the best of both worlds, it makes for a confusing view of self.
Now, 10 years after the epic battle of the Great Divorce, I am beginning to learn that the natural tendencies of my parents are why I am able to feel so deeply, yet talk about these feelings so openly. I never thanked my parents for that. I was too busy being wrapped up in teenage angst and the hell-fire that is middle child syndrome, so a well-deserved thank you is in order.
Alas! What are your 20's for? Apparently they're for finding out that your parents are fucking spectacular for having to deal with 3 kids during a divorce when they're trying to rebuild their lives (kudos, guys). They are also for realizing that the things you did as a kid have a name, like meditation. Oh, and for figuring out that Nowhere may just be the perfect place to call home.
Don't mind me. I'll just be over here - sitting everyday to meet my Self with the full heart that my parents gave me and channeling the loud silence they gifted me to document my travels to Nowhere.