How to Cope When You Don't Belong

I am no stranger to a nomadic life. I spent eight years moving between Charlotte and England, between family and friends, home and school. But I left at precisely the age that you become naturally restless, itching to prove your independence even though you know you're not ready (money, cooking, laundry still being burdens, not necessities). My life was compartmentalized, but unevenly so, and I rarely felt for what was left behind. Instead of never belonging, I always belonged. Now I don't have that feeling of belonging. Here in Wilmington, I ache for what remains in the other place. Because that other place isn't really a place at all.

I am touched by the beauty in the honesty of Ta-Nahisi Coates' writing (which isn't surprising, since "Beauty is truth, truth beauty," remember?):

Bonds are formed with great velocity. Lives collide and then someone you've met only days ago is opening up on how to survive child molestation or drug addiction or a tsunami. I have heard that people fall in love out here, that perfect relationships back home are sundered by the great loneliness of these Woods and old lives are left by the way. I do not believe it. I question the spine of love born in a place where other people wash your dishes.

In many ways, that describes how I feel when I am here on the coast of North Carolina. Life remains simple. I am free to concentrate on myself, and as a result I am learning, I am growing, I am meeting and connecting to people but I am not truly living, not in the complete sense, anyway; in many aspects my life is stunted here (perhaps that isn't fair, perhaps it's only divided). But at any rate, I am not at home, which means that a large part of me is absent. I am happy at work, but I am also looking forward to the weekends when I can go home and sleep next to the one I love.

Is it possible to be really happy when the things you need are miles apart? Perhaps. Like Mr. Coates, I may have changed here, but I will always be called back. And that's where I belong.