Nomadic

A very short 6 months into my new home I find myself packing yet again.  Honestly, I can't even tell you how many places I have lived since moving out of my parents' house at the ripe old age of 22.  The list is most probably endless.  Often, I find myself wondering exactly why I keep moving; some of the moves had very distinct purposes, and yet some had no good reason at all.  My entire family still lives in the same house in which I grew up.  Maybe there is some sort of psycho-babble answer in that fact, but I'm not Freud, and not qualified to pull that bit of information out of the air.
Does it bother me to have lived in so many different places?  A valid question, and sometimes the answer to that question is yes.  At times I find myself wondering exactly what is wrong with me.  Why can't I find that place to settle in and call home?  For the most part, I would have to say that I have never really had a home.  Not homeless in the societal definition of that word, but homeless in another sense.  No real bond to a specific place where I have resided. 
I have friends, and I have spoken with people, who claim that they know that where they are is where they should be.  They have felt a "calling" to be where they are in regards to both living space, work space, all aspects of their lives.  I can honestly say I have never felt any kind of "calling."  For the most part the voices in my head seem to say things like: "What the hell?" or "Same crap, different day."  Those kind of voices are in my head.  Even in those moments where I feel like maybe there is some sort of small voice pointing towards something, I just never seem to be able to make out what it is pointing towards.  I would say this describes all aspects of my life.
I believe I began to really ponder these things when I realized that I hoard boxes so that I will always have plenty of them for packing.  That has to be some kind of disorder; to arrive at a new residence and somewhere in the back of your mind the idea of your next move is already percolating.
Maybe the answer to finding home is to first know what that word means to me, but I can't say I have any real definition for it.  There does not seem to be any picture in my head that I associate with that word.  Not even sure how I would begin to develop that picture in my mind.  Possibly all people think the same way I do, and I simply project onto them that they are at "home" when the reality is they are also floundering around, never quite sure where the next flop will land them, or even why it landed them in that particular place.  It's a strange feeling to be surrounded by people and feel as if you are just looking in from a distant window.  It's not a feeling I know how to describe, and it's not a feeling that always surfaces for me, but it seems as if it is a feeling that has been with me for a bit now.  Odd to sit at the pool, and somehow feel completely invisible.  Not an exact explanation, but I'm doing my best.
Overall, I guess what i'm attempting to convey is the sensation that I've never found somewhere that feels as if I belong.  A place that my presence completes, and it's presence completes me.  All of this rambling probably holds the answer to why I move so much.  It's not pleasurable.  I do not enjoy the hassle of moving: changing your address with everyone who needs to have your address, finding a way to feel like the space you are in is your space and not just a shell that keeps you from freezing to death in the winter. 
Maybe one day the voices in my head will be kind enough to shut their traps long enough for me to hear the one voice that is actually solid, and attempting to lead me in the right direction.   I'm certain that I will be old and grey by that time.  well, older and greyer I should say.  In the mean time I suppose I will continue to hoard my boxes and keep the movers on speed dial.  At least I'm keeping people employed.
When I started this blog, it was as a suggestion from a friend, because that person thinks I have a wicked good sense of humor and should share it with the millions of you who read this thing.  While I do have a pretty good sense of humor, it seems as if the blog is turning into something else. I'm not sure what that is, but as we have determined already today, I have no certainty about most things in my life.  Maybe I'm just a shell wandering the globe until the next life. Suffering from some karmic ass whooping from a former life that I have no memory of. But that digresses into things I know nothing about.
Sorry for those of you who wanted some laughter, but today I needed to just babble. Let's all go take our xanax and be mellow. I'll try to be funny next time.