The Almost Littlest Hobo

What? I’m only 5’2″ – Which makes me, at least by German or Swedish standards, pretty little for a fully grown woman.

Of course I come from neither German nor Swedish lineage, but French – which makes me average at best, and Italian, which basically makes me amazonian. It’s all a matter of perspective really. But for the purpose of this blog post, the name of which I’ve grown quite attached to, I’m a shrimp.

Also, can I just add, that the original littlest hobo wasn’t actually a hobo either. He was a dog. A dog who went around doing his own thing, helping people in need, and moving on…

I may have been too quick the other day, to say that being homeless is liberating.

I know of people who are intentional gypsies. People who have purposely given up their homes and purged themselves of all their worldly possessions, to embark on a life of travel, exploration, and couch-surfing.

And in a way I get it. Totally. Only not really because I keep finding myself drawn to the storage facility that holds all my material possessions so tightly within it’s aluminum walls.

“There’s a voice that keeps on calling me”

And every time I go there, I feel this deep urge to crawl into my cave of boxes and bits, and just curl up into a ball. I feel at home there. Which is ironic really, since I’ve never felt at home in any of my actual homes. ever.

Part of me wants to embark bravely on wild adventures into the unknown, with nothing but curiosity, optimism, and a pair of clean underwear. Most of me. All of me. All of me wants that. But all of me also wants to know that whenever I’m tired or weary; whenever I need a little downtime away from the adventure; there’s always my little villa in Italy/Spain/Mexico that I call home. That little shack that holds my 20 or 30 favourite books, my guitar, family photo albums, souvenirs of past adventures, loves, and losses… And maybe a gourmet kitchen, a perfectly maintained vegetable garden, and walls of clematis, an olive grove or two, and maybe a vineyard, that I can call my own.

Is that so wrong?

But for now, I continue this journey, following the horizon and my destiny; searching for my self, and a sense of purpose, seeking shelter from the elements, foraging for food, keeping the dream alive and my head held high, and pet sitting in a swanky condo with central air, a fully stocked liquor cabinet, and a dishwasher that isn’t me.

“Down this road that never seems to end,
Where new adventure lies just around the bend.
So if you want to join me for a while,
Just grab your hat, come travel light, that’s hobo style…”

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