J.M.W. Turner, Sunrise with a Boat Between Headlands, 1835 (image from here)
Deep down, I was always a little jealous, you could say, of those people. You know, the ones who always knew what they wanted, always knew where they were going next, always knew who they wanted to become—or at least, it seemed that way. Home is where the heart is, as the cliché goes, and those boundless vagabonds seemed to find home wherever their next specific goal, placed deep down in their hearts, took them. Cheerleading and tournament weekend champions? Check. Volunteering to build schoolhouses for Ghanaian children? Check. Scuba diving off the coast? Check. But there were no checkmarks like these ones on my list, and I was no vagabond, neither seeking home nor feeling completely content with where I was.
Rather, I was a homebody. Not that my body was particularly pentagon-ish or made…
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