I walked into the Starbucks since I had some time to kill before my event. As I walked in, two guys passed me on the way out and I was struck by the uniform they wore since it was very similar to my own. Slacks. Dress shirt. Messenger bag slung over the shoulder. They were in blue, I was in tan, but it was just the details which were different.
I looked around the coffee shop and saw the same uniform on another 5 or 6 guys. The hum of Silicon Valley could be heard from the open laptops and bluetooth headsets and the feeling of self-importance resonating from all these people doing important-ish things.
Maybe I should have felt a part of that, but at that moment, I felt very far removed from it and instead of seeing where I fit into all of it, I could only picture myself very far removed. The feeling that hit me, consciously and loudly as I walked into the Starbucks, was a desire to be somewhere with sand under my feet and sun in the sky and clear salt water extending out in front of me.
It was a feeling of not belonging here and it hit me in an instant.
The truth is that this is probably where I do belong. I live here, I work here and I will for the foreseeable future. I have an anchor (I love very much) that keeps me living here in the form of a 5 year old girl and a custody agreement signed and sanctioned by courts and lawyers and judges. I’m not going anywhere. This is my home and this is my uniform.
Still… it doesn’t feel like it. I have no rational reason to feel such an affinity for tropical places. My background is Norwegian, English, French, Scottish and probably a few other very European ingredients… not one of them in a shade that would offer the slightest bit of protection from a tropical sun.
My soul is the most content when I’m standing on a flat, the sun playing peek-a-boo behind fast moving clouds, my eyes scanning the water for movement and silhouettes.
I can’t explain that, but I know it all the same.
- Unique Post