Globetrotters Monthly May Challenge

The Moments I Carry With Me Will Always Be Home

I don’t have a hometown, but I do have memories

I see moments pass through my dirty windows, all within a drive.

Some days it’s quick — warming my fragile heart with joy. And at other times, it’s slow, where I’m parked in random areas — stirring an emotion so raw and untethered by mother nature.

Most days, I’m at the foot of her mercy. There are times when I have no privacy, dealing with people’s random moments of life tucking themselves away in a grocery bag. Rolling their carts with their burden, debt, and soul — merely existing to survive.

The crows gather around, picking up the remnants of people’s trash — cawing in a celebratory dance.

I see time pass by me depending on where I am.

The moments I see are nothing but life in full bloom — traversing across plains, mountain tops, forests, parking lots, and the road in front of me.

I pass through people’s lives at a glance, wondering what their tale is.

As they head in the opposite direction,

I can’t help but wonder where their destination is? What’s their journey? And where are they going?

Their faces glimmer with nothing more through the windshield as it dimmers their persona and soul.

My home constantly changes. Sometimes every day, somedays in a week and even 3 months — it depends.

The wheels drive me to my next destination. However long it takes, I eventually get there.

I see through my glass windows a vast prairie land — a desert with sprawling trees and small shrubs on the ground. Dead pieces of wood of all sizes rest on the sand below. The wind picks up, and goosebumps reign on my bare skin.

Sometimes, I’m on a plateau cliff, alone, but not alone as the moon shines brightly; I’m left speechless.

There’s a fire ring already made, so I pick up all the debris of wood that I could collect and build a fire for the chilly night.

At other times, I’m at a desolate rest stop. One street lamp, a security camera sign, and a portable toilet nearby. The gravel lot is a comforting feeling as most days my tiny house sits on unpaved roads.

I hear a few cars park near me, and an idle truck stops for the night. I fall asleep knowing that I’m not alone.

Somedays, my views are of a grocery parking lot with people coming in and out, going about their lives. I hide in plain sight but am visible to others if they paid close attention. I make sure to not be seen. Sometimes it’s illegal, and at other times it’s allowed — depends on the county.

Then there are days when I’m in the city. I see humans sprawling around, fast pacing themselves to their next event — always productive and always moving.

Makes me feel like I’m at a show, standing still, watching as the world whizzes through.

My hometown is nonexistent. It’s constantly changing, sometimes for the worse and sometimes for the better. There’s a lot of instability here.

Yet it comes alive when I move from place to place, in nature, surrounded by the elements of mother earth. She breathes through me as I discover the small things in life are what make me smile.

Look at life through the windshield, not the rearview mirror.

-Byrd Baggett

I may not have a stable home or a permanent one, for that matter, but I do see change. At times, I want to be still and slow down. I’ll take advantage of the hidden gems I stumble upon and rest.

Most days, I’m alone. And other days, I’m with a few people — all with their own stories, life, and journey.

I love witnessing the different transitions from one place to another. From one season to another. From meeting strangers on the road to another.

Connecting. Crying. Reflecting. Hoping. Dreaming. Inquiring.

Life on the road is my hometown, after all.

There is never a right one for me.

I see far in the distance there is a hometown ( a much more stable one) where I need to take these steps to find her. But for now, my car serves as the driving force to build a tiny house on wheels, one day.

However many hometowns I pass by, I’ll eventually get there and create it.

Because my body tells me desperately that it’s time to find a stable and safe place of my own.

She may still have wheels. Who knows. I will never know.

I only wish to have my memories of living in a car be a distant one, yet one that holds a gratifying tale to tell. The one where it broke me, challenged me, questioned me, and the one that continues to strengthen me to this day.

My hometown — she’s out there somewhere, calling me in all directions. I pick up the wind and go through with it, whether it be north, south, west, or east.

I’ll drive with my wallet hurting while cursing at me. But I know I can pick a random job to make ends meet.

Therefore, my home is where I make it out to be.

She is everywhere I set my eyes, heart, and soul on.

That’s where she’ll be.

Always waiting for me to rest upon the very moments we simply pass on through.

A special thank you to Gerald Sturgill for creating the monthly May challenge for Globetrotters.

And I was inspired to write and share my version of what hometown means to me when reading JoAnn Ryan’s version of her home.

As with everything, thank you for reading!

❤️