Most of my adult life I’ve been haunted by a craving to be Elsewhere. Somewhere else. Somewhere other than here.
The constant stomach-churn of restlessness, wanderlust, dissatisfaction and disillusionment has led me to have 20 or more addresses over the past decade. Many times, I’ve upped sticks, quit jobs and fled, obeying inner commands to seek answers on the road.
A Sufi friend once told me that the self is hell. In seeking Elsewhere I’ve been seeking to escape myself – the inner conflicts and whirring thoughts that bedevil my consciousness.
But in spending weeks, sometimes months, in foreign lands, I’m often confronted with myself more violently then when I was at home (and where is that?).
Not feeling at home in myself, I keep trying to run. All the while knowing I’m going in the wrong direction.
I’ve been looking at the map upside down. Where I need to go is inward. What I need to learn is how to be, how to exist in the present, how to feel alright in myself, and how to remember that the self is an illusion.