Upside-down

Well. Just when you think life might have poured a righteous glass of lemonade rather than doling out a dozen lems, everything goes topsy-turvy on you, and you just aren't sure whether you're coming or going. This being only my second official entry, it feels like the previous could have been million years ago. (but maybe that's 'cause I'm indulging in the new National CD, track 10 particularly).
So, there I go ranting and raving about notions of home and stability, ideas of feeling some sense of comfort in a place, in a situation in life, and then the world slips the proverbial rug out from underneath my notions and throws me wily-nilly back to the drawing board. Apparently the slippery slope is the only stability I know.
Unfortunately I am a novice at its controls.
Here I am visiting my former residences on what many would call a vaca-y (vacation, abbreviated, derived from the first two syllables. mentioned in the movie Legally Blonde: "You won't be seeing me for two weeks. I'm going on vacay"; urbandictionary.com) expecting to enjoy some peace-of-mind, closure and clarity- having created a whole new space for myself- and never in a million years to feel like these towns are "home", anticipating muted feelings, some faint nostalgia perhaps, but general indifference. I'm thinking I have my near-future planned out to a 'T' and consequently am mostly invincible.

Wrong.
Lemonade.

Topsy-turvy.
Upside-down.

And the spinning continues....

If my friends could see me now...

If I had stuck to my original plan I'd be bound for home right now. The home that was New York. Or Pennsylvania. Or some place other than here. But who knew this place would feel the most like home of any place I have ever been. Fairbanks, Alaska- where the temperatures are extreme, the living is simple, and the lines are blurred. Boasting the best lights show in the world and self-proclaimed "Land of the Midnight Sun".

In honesty, the first few weeks had my mind stirring. Adjusting from one extreme to the other was anything but seamless. There are things about the materialistic, arts-and-cultural mecca otherwise known as New York that appealed to me, and still do, but just as many about the tree-hugging mentality and abundant open spaces that I didn't know I was longing for inside my "cozy" (read as "cramped") fourth-story-walk-up apartment in Manhattan.

Now I boast a suitcase of belongings, two showers a week, and a "dry" lifestyle which doesn't mean I have quit drinking, but rather means I have stopped flushing a toilet, and a real sense of fulfillment for reducing my footprint on this earth to boot.

As it were, my "home" is a state of mind attained by being among the generous fun-loving people that have become my friends, absorbing the beauty of nature in settings untouched by human intervention, and having the realization that life can be satisfying.

To all of you in the Lower 48, or just The States, as they are referred to up here by those who truly believe they aren't really part of it: find your way home.