Cycles in Life

I believe for some people, perhaps of a certain free spirited temperament or creative personality, that life is largely ruled by cycles, which can be measured in years. For me the cycle is 5-6 years, after which I long for a change of scenery, different faces and a change of pace. The longing can actually create a physical discomfort for me, akin to not being able to achieve or attain something you want. For me I simply want to explore all aspects of life, see and try new things. I care not for my apartment which is really just a place to store ones stuff. I have never really cared much for stuff, new or otherwise. Anyone who really knows me also knows my apartment contains castoffs from other peoples lives, but even so is cozy and warm and completely me. I can take whatever is thrown at me, from a change of furniture to a completely different city; I am adaptable and enjoy the challenge.

I have felt my cycle calling me for months now. The city I once loved and still admire seems cold and barren to me as of late. I feel unappreciated and stagnant here, despite all the wonderful friendships I have accumulated. I have gone beyond my urge to flee and tried to dig in, thinking finally maybe I have lost this urge to move on, but alas there is it, calling out to me. I have always been completely baffled by people who follow society’s rules like sheep. Find a job, buy a house, and stay in one place forever. There is a huge world out there full of magic and experiences waiting to be tasted. Hence the cycle being something only certain people feel.

My cycle has been in play since I became an adult really. When I was twenty-ish, quite out of the blue, I up and moved to Calgary and lived there for three years. I knew absolutely nobody but within a month had a decent job and an apartment. Some friends followed me out there, but they never lasted, not having the same spirit. I then moved back to London with a fiancé, which did not last long. He was a talented effeminate artist, as were most my men to follow. I stayed in London again for a few years, then moved to Alaska and married an older man whom I met while hitchhiking with said fiancé. I then lived in the US for a year and left the husband to go live in Fort McMurray Alberta. I soon tired of that dismal place and moved to Toronto where I lived for two years. When I had enough of my crazy drug induced hippy roomies I moved back to London, where I lived for another six years.

One day after a heated argument with my boyfriend I took my son out of school and drove again to Calgary, where I lived for six years. Again I longed for my family so I moved back to London. While living there I took off to Europe for one year to live with a man I met online. Was an adventure to be sure. I found myself back in London and the final years there played out.

My sister and I moved to Toronto and now it has been five years and the itch finds its way under my skin yet again. I wonder if I will ever be happy in one place, playing the role so many others never question.

I doubt it.