Roots

It’s strangely freeing to have no family. To be able to go where the wind takes you. In my case, this involved travelling. Motorcycle rides across North Vietnam. Salsa dancing in the streets of Colombia. Gliding down dessert hills in Morocco. Training Muay Thai in humid South Thailand.

But now that I am months away from leaving, it hits me what I’m leaving behind. Australia has never felt more like home. I guess you don’t realise how good you have it until you have to leave it. It pays to have roots, to receive nutrients and vitality from your surroundings, until you are uprooted. Until home is an infinite grid through the window of an airplane.

I know too well how the world moves on. Unless you are extraordinary, like Gandhi or Muhammad Ali or the president, our lives are so insignificant and our sphere of influence is so limited. You can choose this choking, terrifying meaninglessness, or accept your humble little ant role in society. I know my little world will move on in my absence, even if the question of What if? will remain unanswered.

Maybe as we age, we will always wonder what could have been. We are primed to expect completeness, just as we expect our stories, movies and literature to have an ending, to answer our questions and leave us satisfied. But rarely do we receive closure.

So, what if? What happens when I leave behind pieces of my soul to the people I love? Will I see them again? Or will my soul remain incomplete?