Right now, more than ever, I’ve this intense urge to sell my crap; junk the stuff cluttering up my life.
Let go of my issues. Just leave.
My problem: I love my home.
It’s the first, and only one, I’ve bought. The neighborhood is s’okay; crime is nearly nonexistent. There’s a steep price to pay for living here: New Jersey is one, if not the most expensive state in the country. It also feels like the most depressing, isolating, and socially stagnant places in the world.
It’s weird how much I miss Brooklyn, when I could not wait to leave that place!
My current home is my comfort zone.
This is where I hide from everyone. I don’t believe I should need someplace that makes me reluctant to let go of. I don’t think it’s healthy. I should be able to adapt to any environment; enjoy myself. At some point, in the future, I know I will move.
My other issue: I wouldn’t know where to go.
I used to want to a second home in Florida. I used to want to work in Nevada. I used to want to return to England. I used to want to find a home in Canada. I used to want to relocate to Australia or New Zealand. I used to want to hang out in Spain. I used to want to chill down in the Bahamas, Barbados, Puerto Rico, or the U.S. Virgin Islands.
I have the “grass is greener” syndrome.
I take this feeling to mean that I need to take a trip. I read about people who backpack around the world. I feel no envy. I’d rather go somewhere, hang out for a couple of days and return to my home.
There are places I’d still like to visit: Australia, Italy, Germany, B.C. Vancouver, the Netherlands, maybe India or Japan. I need to make plans, or I’m going to go crazy.