After traveling to different places and constantly shifting gears to change with the locations and people I’m surrounded by, I can’t help but get a little depressed every time I must leave to take on a new adventure, despite the excitement that comes with it. I fill my head with questions such as “Will I ever be back here” and “When I come back, will anything be the same? Will the same people be alive? Will I be able to visit the same places?”

Upon returning from Prague, I revisited my parents, brother, grandparents, beloved pets, and a few good friends. Not only have their lives all changed, but so have the places surrounding them. A brook I used to visit as a kid is now overgrown, with different paths weaved within the weeds without a trace of the paths I once recognized. People I used to see on a regular basis no longer live here and instead are pursuing other opportunities in other locations just like I am.
I’m afraid to leave my family for fear that they won’t be there when I get back or I won’t ever come back myself, which seems insane, but to me it makes so much sense. However, this place I used to call home is no longer a home. Those connections I used to have with people have long since faded away and I’m sure they’ve all forgotten my name by now. For those few strong connections I have left, I’ll have them for a lifetime, but never again will I revisit them here.
There’s nothing here for me anymore and I don’t think there ever really was. There’s nothing for me to learn here anymore. Whenever I’m in Albany, I feel stuck, trapped in an automatic thinking spiral. Driving through streets with my eyes closed, I would hit no one because these roads are ingrained in my blood. Everything’s easy and everything’s boring. A ghost town, memory of what once was, I can’t go back to the former life I used to have and that’s what scares me the most. I hate feeling like a ghost.
I wish I could take the most important people in my life and add them to my new experiences – pick them all up and move them around with me. Of course, I can do that. The people, experiences, and places I’ve experienced are forever present in my heart, carried around with me until the end of time, even after they’ve all changed and left. Sometimes, though, I have too many of them to carry with me and the burden gets very heavy.
Picturing myself staying here for three months doing nothing but working a part-time job and feeling sorry for myself and my lost connections here makes me feel a little better about leaving and starting anew yet again in Los Angeles this summer.

Photo: Sydney Morning Herald

Our connections mean so much, except they are all temporary, fading synapses that spark right when you need them and change you forever, pushing you in the right direction. I’m sorry I can’t stay a piece of obsidian buried under dirt with all of my obsidian friends and instead must be constantly running alone, away from anyone who has ever expressed love for me because that’s not me. I don’t belong here. I was always that missing puzzle piece that sorta kinda fit into others, but not quite. You could tell I didn’t fit.
So now, I must go once again, and continue the search for a place that I might be able to call home. I just hope I can fill the human void that’s quickly becoming a deep, sinking abyss of nothing and no one. So many friends and strangers have gotten married, started having kids, and yet they’re envious of my temporary, chaotic, expensive lifestyle. They don’t recognize that strong human connections are the essence of life that I crave so deeply and yet can’t have just yet. First, I need to pick a place.