Homeless?

It wasn’t until I went to Germany for the second time that I realized I don’t have a home.
I mean, I had a room at my mom and stepdad’s house, but it never felt like home. I had a dorm room for the upcoming school year, but it was definitely not going to be home. I had a room at my grandmother’s trailer home, but I still have not stepped in there in years.
But before I get to that, let me take a step back and tell you about all the traveling I did as a kid.
There was the trip to Lake Tahoe with my mom and aunt that made me love the snow and the cold. Yes, I complained about it, but I loved it.
There were the hour-long road trips to and from church every other Sunday when I was with my mom. I would get to finish a book each day. I even read a dictionary because I couldn’t find a book to read and it was already in the car. I would fall asleep in the backseat, sometimes snoring, sometimes not.
There were the trips in my dad’s truck to his girlfriend’s house in Paris, Texas. The trips to her house in Richmond, Rosenburg, and then, finally, Katy. We would make the trip there on Fridays and back to Victoria to meet my mom on Sundays. It always gave me time to read, do homework, sleep, do anything my heart desired. Sometimes, we would stay at his house. First in Victoria, then later in the middle of the country.
I loved staying at his house in the country. It gave me plenty of land to run across, do cartwheels across, just be a kid on. His girlfriend’s house in Katy had a field behind it leading to some creek. Her kids and I would run out to the creek and play games, make up stories. Just pretend we were people we weren’t living in a time we didn’t. We were in ancient Greece, trying to please the gods. We were pirates, sailing the seas, pillaging villages, fighting for our freedom from the kingdom.
That must have been where I developed my eternal wanderlust.
To those of you who don’t know what wanderlust is, it’s a way of life. It’s defined as a strong desire to travel. It’s uncontrollable.
A trip I took when I was about eight was the trip to Disney World. I loved Florida. I went with my mom, my aunt, and a cousin. We spent an entire week just walking around, enjoying the fun and the sun. My favorite park there was Epcot. You could walk around the world all in one day. It sparked even more wanderlust in me. I wanted to go to Germany, I wanted to see the Eiffel Tower in Paris, I wanted to see the architecture in Tokyo. I needed to see everywhere.
The winter after my dad died, my mom and I packed up and went on a road trip to Durango, Colorado. That was a trip, mostly good, but had some bad happenings. On the way there, we saw a terrible car accident where the truck looked like a pancake. When we got there, the mountains were white with snow. It was like I had been transported into my snow globes. During the mornings, we would get ready early and watch deer roam near where we stayed. On the last full day there, I wiped out and ate it in the parking lot. I was so sore the entire trip to breakfast and after. The people there were just so nice to tourists and visitors. I wonder what they are like to the regulars there. It’s always going to be a mystery to me as long as I live the life I’m living in the place I’m living.
My mom married my stepdad when I was eleven. We went on a family road trip. Me, her, my stepdad and his two sons; all shoved into a minivan. We toured most of the continental United States of America. I saw the Grand Canyon. It sparked a story in me that I wrote later that year for class. We walked in snow in basketball shorts and sandals. It was a ton of fun that I will never forget. I’ll also never forget seeing my mom’s face when I threw a snowball right into her stomach. We were stuck in a car for over a week straight. It felt right, just the thrill of traveling. Though, I could’ve done better without my stepbrothers sticking their feet in my face every two hours.
When we got back from the road trip, I washed all of my clothes and packed up another suitcase for another week long trip. This time, it was to church camp for the third time. I felt restless the entire time, never able to move enough. I always felt like I was being watched and judged. I couldn’t handle staying in the room for such long periods of time like we did at that camp.
When I got back from Germany, something felt off wherever I went. I felt uneasy, restless. I couldn’t put my finger on it. I still try to figure out why I can’t just stay in one place anymore. Maybe it will stay one of life’s biggest mystery.
The only time I felt okay with life was when I was driving.
I can stay at home and watch movies and shows on Netflix and be fine. But when I stop doing that, when I’m sitting in silence, I start to overthink everything. I won’t be able to stop thinking about where I’ll end up in the future.
Even in class, I’ll start fidgeting, just needing something to do.
As I’m writing this essay, I’ve realized one important thing.
I was basically born to be a gypsy. I was born to travel and live life on the run. Not run in the bad way, also not physically running, but always running after the next adventure.
This essay has helped me realize that I love interior decorating and architecture as much as I did when I was a kid following around my dad on construction sites. But as much as I would love to decorate my own house soon, I need more adventure in my life. The stability of college routine is suffocating me.
This essay makes me want to just up and move my entire life to the road. Van life is sounding so much better. And though, I’d be homeless, my van would be my home.
So would I be homeless or not? This is a question that will plague me forever.