…are the manifestations of the memories we bring with us.
Every day I consider that, beautiful, serene and unbelievable as this island may be, I am very far from the place I will forevermore know as home. There is a consuming sense of isolation when you’re so utterly removed from your habitat. The flow of your lifestyle is dammed, allowing just a trickle to escape, in the form of emails and videos, just enough to remind you of the rush behind the wall. Despite the fact that you can list off everyone and everything that drives you to homesickness, what you really miss above all else is the comforting sense of predictability.
Oscar Wilde suggested that expecting the unexpected demonstrates a thoroughly modern intellect. I don’t know that I would consider myself a modern intellectual, but I can identify an oxymoron when it’s staring me in the face. There is a reason why humans have been referred to as creatures of habit. Most of us flourish with a routine and, the more established the routine becomes, the more we understand and accept our niche in life. We may seek to occasionally remove the monotony, but always rely on the rapid return of that complacent predictability.
When the routine is gone, we flounder.
Were I Wilde’s definition of a modern intellect, I would have nothing to discuss. I would prance around the neighborhood, anticipating the charging cow, emaciated dogs, flocks of goats, and intimidating driving patterns. My blog would go belly-up. Then what would you read when you’d already read everything else and realized you still had time to kill?
I have been floundering since the day we landed in Grenada and a monkey climbed on my head. Every day I am weighed down by more astonishing moments and discoveries. The collapsing definition of my lifestyle is ready for a new description. And frantically, I’m trying to erect some sense of daily structure. But whatever comfort I can build for myself, I am still a stranger in a foreign place and, in the most significant sense of the word, home is agonizingly far away.
Fortunately, I’m not so naïve that I don’t expect some semblance of predictability to settle itself on my present situation. Until it does, I’ll keep up my tailspinning existence. And I’ll keep it up stoically, despite the subconscious struggle between my perpetually flailing id and constantly scolding super-ego.