Gypsy Life

I once dated a guy who never thought I would stay. When I moved out I filled bag after bag with things to get rid of.  He looked at me and said "You don't always have to throw everything away."  

I thought of him last year while packing up my life in the apartment that I shared with my ex.  Once again I piled up half of my possessions to give away, knowing I'd signed up for the wrong life, knowing that these things had nothing to do with my happiness.

I sometimes think I'll cross him in the street, and when he finds out I'm divorced he'll laugh and say he's not surprised (especially that I packed my bags and moved to Europe.)


I don't mean to disappear so frequently but it always seems to happen.  Someone recently pulled at my heart strings and said that I get bored every fifteen minutes.  I felt the fear of loves gone by and the sense that I'd soon be a memory.

While saying goodbyes at the airport the other day, my backpack and duffel bag strapped on my body and a new adventure in mind, someone said "She is transient.  She never hangs her hat for long".  

Maybe that's okay.  Maybe I am meant to live many lives, to see every corner of the world, and to stumble into as my hearts as I can.  Maybe one day another person won't be afraid.  Maybe they'll pack their bags and come with me.  Maybe I'll continue to take this journey alone.

I hope to hang my hat in Vancouver for a while.  Work on my career.  Have my first apartment to myself.  Learn to drive.  I don't want to predict the future, but I am starting to focus on what I need and what I want.

In the meantime I might as well choose to love this gypsy life as it's the one I keep coming back to.


An amazing writer and woman wrote this about me...


She is green-eyed indecision, dream-chasing gold; a bard a bird with wings that should never be clipped

She is multiple nests built and left materialized with love, lust and lullabies rhythms of different beating hearts fueled by fresh ideas every other Tuesday

She is found; lost wandering streets trying to find her place; searching for a stay But people like her will always stray Craving new street signs and clumsy firsts

She is scoping out properties in hearts hoping to put an emotional down payment on a home (frustrated with the real estate scene) knowing mortgage is daunting; unprepared for this kind of commitment

She starts and stops; sprinkling stardust in-between fragmented and leaving parts of herself in cities (scents and stray blonde hairs in beds) she’s hunting for a home solid enough to contain her (she cannot be contained)

She slips into scenes so seamlessly; disappears desiring dusk in the west and a dawn somewhere foreign and while she searches for a stay maybe she’ll find out that what she’s really looking for is not a place or a someone but a spirit strong enough to say, “I’ll come too” and home without roots but built sturdy enough with windows left open for her to come through and warmth that promises, “I’ll come with you”

She is every time zone; made of stars and moon a wild thing floating from a how to a why; lessons learned she’s a mystical reason, a dream, a story or three (she left a nest inside of me)