What It Means To Be Nomadic
I’m so tired of excuses. Everyone has them; everyone uses them as a means to an end. It’s kind of pathetic. Stop blaming your fears on your made-up, self-diagnosed bullshit. Placebo effect gone wrong—if you tell yourself that the justification is true, it becomes true in your mind.
The latest and greatest from someone who I really thought cared about me: “I’m nomadic, I can’t grow roots anywhere.”
You’re kidding me, right? Just because you’ve moved around a few times in your life? You think this makes you nomadic? Get over yourself, we’ve all moved around! I hardly know anyone who’s stayed in one place their whole life. Do you think you’re nomadic because you plan on leaving this island as soon as you can? GUESS WHAT, SO DOES THE MAJORITY OF OAHU. That doesn’t make you nomadic. That doesn’t mean you can’t grow a root or two. That doesn’t mean you can’t feel or start something real. Stop blaming your fear of tough conversations, raw emotions, and commitment on some fabricated inability to settle down.
I’ll live in a thousand more cities before I die. I live in every city I visit, because I love it and I soak it in and I carry my whole heart to that new place and I breathe it in with both lungs. But I want nothing more than a shared happiness. And I will never treat any part of my life like a temporary fix or short-term comfort, because you never know when something great is going to jump out and scare the shit out of you (some people call this love).
Anyway, this wasn’t meant to be a rant about one person, but more of a message for anyone riding the tails of an excuse—grow up. I hope that everyone finds someone who is worth being scared for, you know? Worth knocking down protective walls and having hard conversations, worth the assurances and fights and honesty. Finding someone who’s worth all those things and more—that’s kind of the point, right?