The in-between.

You’re not quite there yet, but you’re on your way. In the middle of departure and arrival. The in-between.

I’ve had my long bursts of nomadic years and seasons, rotating with being a homebody until I feel the itch again. Sometimes I get annoyed with myself, like why can’t I just stay in one place? Or why can’t I just keep traveling forever? Have I been using this to escape? Or isn’t traveling my homecoming? Probably a little escape, of course, but I am coming home.

There are bubbles everywhere in the world, I’ve noticed. It doesn’t matter where you are. Every city, every island, every town has them. Similar people and lifestyles, different geography. You can’t escape the mundane and the routines and the clockwork.

I feel like I’ve been living in the fringes of those bubbles. It’s like I’m partially inside but I’m not in the machinery of it, but the rest of me is outside in the atmosphere, ready to go.

Most people see this as abnormal, too wild, too crazy, too unstable. I’ve made peace with that, most days. It’s where I belong. I’ve built a life around it, I’ve paid and sacrificed whatever I had to lose to keep it. I’ve made sure I can do my work anywhere, so that I can jump from time zone to time zone. I’ve lived with the long-distance relationships, friendships, jobs. Juggling several timezones. The fleeting 24-hour or less love affairs. I’ve learned how to fall in love with my solitude (perhaps a little too much) until the loneliness seeps in and I ache for a genuine connection that doesn’t have an expiration date. Then there’s the feeling of being constantly up in the air while having to ground myself. The feeling of always turning around the corner only to see there’s another corner to turn to. All the contradictions and uncertainties so I can see as much as I can and live as fully as I can before my breath leaves me. But is it worth it, though? Yes. Even at the times when I have questions.

I’ve accepted the truth, I will always be a homebody and a nomad in one. That I’ll always be making homes elsewhere. That it is equally important that I always come back to all shades of myself, embracing the belonging I feel in seasons of movement and seasons of stillness, making it indistinguishable and more so, infinite. I’ve come to accept that this is how it is. And this is how it’s meant to be.

And when I’ve stayed in one place long enough, I hear the humming of the road again. I crave the calming feeling of the in-between. You don’t have to do anything else other than sit and observe. It’s my favorite time for reflection. I’ve written many pages just sitting in trains and boats, waiting at airports, peering through the window at 500 knots while suspended in the stratosphere. It’s one of the most visceral moments - dipping in and out of lucidity. The tantalizing act of leaving a world and entering another. When I’m asked what’s my favorite part of traveling - along with the process of exploration, this is it. Moving so fast that everything becomes incredibly still. The world blurring and slowing down. A quiet hum that lures you into your own head and grounds you all at once.