Right now in life I feel just a little bit isolated from everyone. Some of this isolation is of my own creation, yes, but some of it proceeds from the ennui that I feel anyway whenever I try to connect myself to the broader social world. I am never comfortable; I am never relaxed; I am never quite right. My center of gravity is always somewhere else, sometime else, in a place that I can’t quite visualize or grasp. Everyone and everything are foreign, unheimlich.
The sense of homelessness and of not being understood is always strongest during the winter holidays. Every New Year since 1999 has been strange to me. That year was the year when I was forced to realize that there is no continuance or coincidence between childhood and adulthood; once you truly experience the latter, you are forever disconnected from the former, and from all of the emotional foundations that it implies — safety, security, understanding and understoodness, familiarity, tradition — disconnected, no exceptions. Once you see behind the curtain, you can’t ever have faith in the wizard again.
But I do want to have a home again. I am longing, I think, to “put down some roots” somewhere, as a friend once described it, and create a life for myself. A real life… not adventures and accomplishments… just a mundane existence — a place to be myself, for a long time to come.