He grew up in many places all much the same. Cut off from any community, a gypsy was he. From the start, he longed for a home his own, and peace for all those others in the world. That is all.
There was no home yet though, nowhere felt safe, so he retreated inside to wait. His home would come. His home would be found. Bought. Rented. Whatever. He would know it when he felt it.
Then he found one in a friend. A friend he soon had to say good bye to. Things happen and the gypsy wagon sped along. Back inside where it is safe. He studied and lamented the pain of others. So then he opened up the pain in himself to teach himself a cure for all.
The pain never stopped, a cure could not be found. And with every hope for some relief, the wound grew ever deeper. Was this the pain, he wondered, everyone endures? Was he simply weak?
People came and then they went. From schmoozer to lover, they all went the same. Home after home inside hearts for lease, the gypsy life continued even now on his own. It was all that he knew. The quest for home.
The world went on. He found his way. Wound or no, there were things to be done, a home to be found. Exhausted, finally, and much to his dismay, he found himself in solitude. This peace was less than peaceful. That gypsy itch ever simmering behind the scene.
Then one day, while watching some self help video on Youtube explaining the fundamentals of meditation he had studied and used for most of his life, he heard something he had not quite heard before. The home he sought would never be found. There is no such thing outside of the self. No such thing at all.
A home at its best should radiate the warmth of its occupants’ intent. He makes the home. It is not in another. It is not an escape or a prison cell. When shared with others, it can radiate love as well. It is not something found, but made. A culmination of a healthy mind, body, and spirit creates a home, be that a generational estate, an RV, or a tent.
So then, a home from the start was a tricky expectation. To have a home, he had to be in a position to make a home, which he could only do by accepting a basic truth his overiding wish upon the world for that home negated. Mind twister. Mental gymnastics.
How to get past that? Stop waiting for that wish to come true and do what it is you know you are here to do. The wish will come true by your own hand and you’ll get that nagging mission off your back. You may not be perfect, nobody is, but live to deal with being good enough. Being good enough is better than not trying, you must admit. Failure and mistakes are better than not trying too. Try, try, try, ever less awkwardly again. If it is your cause, then you have to honor that. It should be worth some scuffs, scrapes, and emotional discomfort.
This is what I learned from the boy named James, who may or may not be another pseudonym. He comes up as a character in some of my trips of fancy. Now I pose the question, how are you like James? What conditions have you set on your own life which hinder progress sometimes? Do you need them?