formless, confusing, and free
Should I wander forever?
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Dear friend —
Do you like where you live?
I came across a Twitter thread that asked this question and read the hundreds of replies with great interest, though all I gathered in the end was that some people like where they live, while others do not. Some like cities, others tiny towns. Some like long winters, others hate them with a passion. Many didn’t bother to give a reason why they hate, say, Kentucky, so I had to make my best guess (they don’t like horses?).
There’s nothing quite like wandering around the country aimlessly to make you obsess about where you might one day decide to live in the future, and why. At this point I’ve been in big, mid-sized, and small cities, sleepy towns and tourist towns, in the mountains and by the beach — and I’m still not sure where I might make a more permanent home.
I’m currently in Bastrop, Texas — a tiny suburb a half hour outside of Austin — staying at my friend Lindsay’s. Coming to this place was a major change, partly because the town’s way smaller than I’m used to (pop. 8,776). Bastrop prides itself on being one of the most historic towns in Texas. Many buildings sport a big lone star, noting their designation as a historical landmark. There’s a cute main street with a diner called Maxine’s and a short riverwalk with duckies. In the mornings, roosters crow.
On the other hand, the household I’m temporarily part of is way bigger than I’m used to. In addition to me there’s Lindsay and her dog Carl — and sometimes also her boyfriend Roman and his dogs, Dilbert and Lucy (Sidenote: All three humans have received our COVID vaccines). We’re in a big, four-bedroom house so there’s plenty of room for all of us, but it’s marvelous and strange to always have a dog snuggled up to me, or to be able to wander into another room just to chat with another human being whenever I feel like it.
Despite all the changes — or maybe because of them? — I’ve been pretty content here. It’s chill, and peaceful….
Lindsay lived in Brooklyn a long time before moving to Austin, before moving to Bastrop — so of course I’ve been peppering her with questions: Why did you leave the city? Which place did you like best? Are you happy here?
“I think how happy I am in a place depends mostly on what’s happening in my life,” Lindsay said. It took her a while to get used to Bastrop, but she likes it now, with her local friends and her newish boyfriend and their dogs.
This, I understand. Both of us have abandoned good apartments — entire cities we liked — because over time they’d become representations of pasts we wanted to forget: repositories of small failures, bitter disappointments, ghosts of too many relationships gone wrong.
Maybe we all just have to start over sometimes, so we can reimagine our lives, ourselves.
Still, choosing a place to live is a challenge because you’re also choosing the kind of person you are — or imagine you could be. Am I a beach person or a mountain person? Do I really want to get to know my neighbors so I can rely on them and they on me, or do I want to simply mind my own business without being labeled a misanthrope? Would I rather get botox or birkenstocks? You could move to Bastrop determined not to lose your Austin weird, but places do inevitably shape you, and over time, can come to define you.
As much as I’ve enjoyed my time hanging out with Lindsay and Carl, I know I couldn’t live in a small town long-term. It’s just too small, especially for a woman of color. If I lived here, I think the whole town would soon come to refer to me as “that Asian woman who always jogs the riverwalk alone.” I’d feel too visible to be truly comfortable.
So that’s one thing I’ve learned about myself after nine months of nomading. I need to live in a place big enough that I can go out to dinner alone without attracting notice, where I can be already forgotten as the dishes are cleared. I also need temperate weather, ethnic diversity, liberal-leaning neighbors, a walkable neighborhood, and, ideally, a large waterbody.
I’m learning that there actually aren’t many places that fit those criteria besides the beach cities of Southern California.
Maybe after all this I’ll just end up returning to the L.A. area — which I guess would be a good ending to the whole trip too. In the meantime though, I’m trying to figure out where to go after Austin, where I’ll be moving to this weekend. Should I venture farther east? Will there be cities on that side of the country that surprise me into wanting to stay — or at least make me glad I visited? Should I take a quickie road trip through New England? Or shall I just start making my way back west, perhaps with a long experimental stay in Vegas?
Or should I wander forever?
There’s actually no reason I couldn’t continue to do just that for the foreseeable future. Nothing’s tying me down or beckoning me to return.
Life continues on, formless, confusing, and free —
Love,
Siel
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