The funny thing about leaving is that you always take yourself with you. You can escape to the ends of the Earth to lose problems and find yourself, except that you actually can't do that. My mom was right. You always take yourself with you.
All of the somethings that really are nothings will still be dancing around in your head. It might help that the point of origin of all of those nothings is thousands upon thousands of miles away, but they'll still be there with you. Waiting for you. When a bear wakes up from hibernation, it's ravenous. Same thing.
There is an opportunity cost to having gypsy feet. When you go away, the world keeps turning. Off in distant lands you'll learn new things, struggle, grow, appreciate, teach, discover, adapt... but when you come back, if you come back, you'll have to do that all over again here. This place you knew so well. This place that made you think that all of those nothings were somethings. It's been changing and adapting, too. Waiting for you.
When you return, you'll push too far trying to find yourself again, the person you thought you left at home. You'll realize now that in springing forward, you also left behind. Now you've tucked other somethings into one more pocket of the Earth. You take yourself with you, but you always leave a piece of yourself behind. Sometimes that's the cost. You don't get to pick what pieces stay behind. Maybe you leave a nothing piece, but maybe it is a something piece. You probably won't recognize that piece as yours, next time you see it.
I guess what I'm trying to say is that it's like Harry Potter? Horcruxes. Maybe I just felt like referencing HP.
I heed my mother's wisdom. Don't run, because everything runs with you. But for goodness sake, when will I learn that I can't have it all? You'd think I'd have taken the lesson to heart by now. When I choose to leave, everything does not wait for me. Sometimes you lose the good somethings while you're gone, returning to find that they've vaporized into nothings.
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