The Thrill of Homecoming
Reflections on this rocky road to learning true belonging
Lately I’ve been feeling out of step with my era. Not in a Midnight in Paris sort of way, more in the way you feel after eating six bags of cotton candy and getting on a merry-go-round. I sit down at my computer to write and my head falls to the table. I’m so sick of this screen. When I go outside, I’m so sick of the cars. I’m so sick of bills and social media, of CVS and coffee cups, of pre-recorded videos of Fern Canyon flashing on the screen of my elliptical at a gym 2500 miles away from the redwoods.
Look, I’m not a primitivist and I’m not anti-technology. I’m just nauseous. I want to get off this ride for a second and let my body settle.
More and more, I can’t stomach the modern world. I can’t stomach plastic packaging or having more stuff than I need. It’s not guilt that makes me want to give up all this modern excess, it’s more… bewilderment. Exhaustion. Boredom. I just don’t enjoy this stuff anymore. I want less stuff and more time. I want to slow down. My life is so much better when it’s simpler, when fewer things come into it and leave it, when I have less to do and can listen more. I want to spend more time gathering firewood and whittling spoons and singing songs. I want more time spent looking at stars and less looking at stats.
