Another suitcase in another hall...

As I mentioned, during my internship in St. Louis, I suddenly found myself with free time and space to start processing everything that had happened in recent years.


One of the first things I had to do at my new job, was locate and write down the addresses for all 8+ of the places I had lived in the 3.5 years since I turned 16.  If that's not a setup for asking "Where do I belong," then I'm not sure what is.

I had developed a pattern for moving.  One of the first things I did when I knew I had to leave a place, was take down my posters.  That made it obvious to me that I wasn't staying, and helped me get motivated to pack.  On the other side, often the posters were the last things I'd put up, when I finally felt settled in.

There weren't any love affairs involved, I don't want to give the wrong impression, but the rest of the lyrics to this song seem to fit:

I just had to shake my head with the realization that I had intentionally decided to move every 3 to 6 months for the next 4 years.  But at least this time it was my choice.  I knew where I would be, when.  I made connections in both locations, often with people who would still be there when I returned again.  

Second Year fears

This was supposed to go out around 4/20.

There was a very surreal feeling to returning to Purdue for my second year.  Those who have followed my blog the past several months, since I started telling my story, will know that I ended up attending three different high schools.  Going to Purdue as a Freshman, was my fourth new school in five years.

With my first high school, Mercy, I had hoped to have four good years with my friends before we moved on.  I got two.  My junior year, at the public school, I had the possibility of a second year there.  I wasn't sure whether I wanted that or not, but it was possible.

Globalization and the Global Village

In elementary school, one of the things I wished for was to have lived in a small town.  (I have to admit, the year that we did just that, I discovered I didn't like it.)  Looking back, I believe what I truly was yearning for was the concept of the village.  This is much the same "village" in the oft-quoted proverb "It takes a village to raise a child." (See here for a discussion of the phrase's origins.)

I have heard that proverb used in many contexts.  Ever since Hillary Clinton used it as the title of her book, I have heard some Conservatives mock the phrase.  Which confuses me, considering how traditional the concept  is.  I've also heard many people talk about how, when they were children, it didn't matter how fast they ran home - the gossip of their mischief would reach their mother's ears faster than their legs could carry them.