It’s been eleven years and three months since I entered the world of the single life after more than twenty years of marriage. In that time, for the bigger part, I’ve been happily on my own as I come to know myself. And in finding that person, that “new” me? I’ve done some running around. A lot, in fact.

I’ve laid my head in twenty-one places during those eleven years and three months. Twenty-one different spots where I found comfort and love and a home. Some were short moves, crashing on couches or staying in guest rooms for a few weeks – months, even – while I worked on my next steps in life. And some were more permanent, although anyone who knows me understands the fluidity with which I use that word.

In these short living situations, I’ve done a lot of whittling down. In fact, four times in those twenty-one moves had me literally ridding myself of everything I owned save what fit into the car I was hopping into and whatever pet at the time was riding along. These times were emotional and exciting as I thinned out my life, opening up my space for upcoming explorations.

I love my small hippie life – the commitment to non-commitment, the fun of being tied to nothing and nowhere, the joy of being unattached. My belongings are minimal, and my life is huge. It’s how I’ve rolled for nearly a dozen years now, but it’s absolutely not for everyone.

Sometimes, it’s not for me either – especially when I’m dealing with depression. During those infrequent moments, I’ll focus on what a loser I am – 52 without a “real” home, with little possessions, without stuff. I’ll boohoo over moving away from whatever spot at whatever time, and about getting rid of things that I actually liked. And I’ll cry at the fact that I really don’t know what home is to me. My car?

When I can get myself out of the jar and read the label, though, I easily snap back into my reality. I’m grateful to have had this life of running around. I’m thankful for the friends and family in my life who love and support the bohemian in me. And I’m for sure okay without the things I don’t have at this moment.

With that, I can honestly gold star the old adage about the home and the heart – meaning, yes, sometimes home is my car. Because in all that running around? My heart was being filled. I found fun experiences and joy and peace and pain. I found people – so many wonderful people. I found real life, albeit much different than the norm.

While Oregon, my Oregon, will always be home to me (in the broader sense, anyway), I’m sure I’ll leave her a few more times, off to satiate my restless soul. And one day I may even do the settle down thing. But today? I am eagerly planning extended adventures in my brain for “someday”, keeping my eyes opened for opportunities, and ever ready to jump. I mean, hey, dreaming is free.