I moved to a new house, city, or country on average every two, to three years I think. I don’t know why, I can always point to a reason, but if you do it so regular, you might as well assume that it’s just in my character. I am easy satisfied, but after a while, I will still pretend to be satisfied, but jump at the first chance to close the door behind me.
Some people like to find out where their little quirks come from. Where the first seed is sown, a little bit to far from the center. There have been made some attempts, by professionals, as well as the not so, to find the origin and, if necessary, a cure. I later found out, or concluded for my self, that all that doctors can do is to postpone the inevitable, and if they are good they, will help you dealing with that fact.
It is really easy to start digging in your past for the root of it all. The problem is that if you find a root, you tend to see where that one is going, all the while forgetting that an average tree has more than one root. All the roots are important for a tree to stand tall, and some of them might be rotten, butt even the roots that are rotten might keep you upright, when the wind is coming from that specific direction.
The poem for today is from Day 1425
at the door
in the wall
I don’t have this problem, some might say that that’s the problem with me. For me it’s the norm, and I always wonder how people can live in the same place, with the same job, for years and years. In my world, there is something “wrong” with them, maybe they just stare to long at opportunities, wondering if they want to, or dare.