It's going to be a good, good life...

Coming back made me feel like a kid again. Did anything change? Will people still like me? Will I fail or rise to the occasion? If nothing else, the butterflies in my stomach proved that despite what it may seem at times, I am indeed on the right path. Not really sure where it's going to lead, but the journey itself feels like I'm walking towards my destiny. All that could be bullshit, though. Who the fuck knows at this point. Pardon the vulgarities. The last few months have taken quite a toll. But fear not, come ruin or rapture, I march on with my head held high.

Maybe that's what growing up means, in the end - you go far enough in the direction of - somewhere - and you realise that you've neutered the capacity of the term home to mean anything. We don't get an endless number of orbits away from the place where meaning first arises, that treasure-house of first experiences. What we learn, instead, is that our adventures secure us in our isolation. That as we navigate the world, we are bound to find that despite an overwhelming amount of connections, at the end of the day we are in fact alone. Experience revokes our licence to return to simpler times. It forces us to see the world for what it is, and to accept the fact that sooner or later, there's no place remotely like home.