It's been a month to the day since the moving portion of this immersion project ended. I'm back in the place I started. Laura said she was proud of me, that I was brave. How brave are you though, (at the risk of sounding self important) when an experience is necessary?

I imagine my feelings would be far different if I had moved back to the house I left. Instead, I'm in a house too large, by myself most of the time. There are slow aches because I know this could easily be my life. A permanent station scares me--comfort is always appealing, but is jointly repulsive. I'm just not ready.

Constantly I revert back to what-ifs. What factors would have changed the scope of my project? What more of my identity could I have sacrificed? What if I had stayed for two weeks, two months, two years, instead of seven days? What if I had a significant other while I was moving from place to place? And who the hell cares about these what-ifs? The what-if answers aren't directly important, only in contrasting the very real experience that was provided.

I have consequently come to a few conclusions that seem to have nested themselves in a confidence I didn't know I had. Once I realized that I would never be homeless unless I chose to, things cleared up. I could get rid of things. I could move all over. I could reach with sincerity and not feel ashamed of it. I could be rid of people who weren't positive and wholly embrace those that were.

I am here and everywhere.

I'll go.

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