"Hobo" ya thats Me

I recently found out the meaning behind the word "hobo" I am not so positive on the credability of this meaning but I liked it so I will go with it. First let me say that via this meaning I am titling myself as a "hobo" because again via this meaning I will share I feel that a hobo is exactly what I am at this given point in my life. As I left the United States almost a year ago to the day I was also a "hobo" and in a sense I am a "hobo" today still but a very different one then a year ago.

Ok so what am I talking about? The word "hobo" simply means "homeword bound" but not like ok I was lost and now I am finding my way home, not home in the physcial sense but rather the spiritial and emotional home. The place that you feel most comfortable and most like yourself. The place that calls you spiritually and pulls at your heart strings. I am always a "hobo." In college I think I was more of a hobo then I realized since through most of it I lived in a lavish mansion with maids and cooks less then a block from the library and campus. I had a home there in Eugene, I had a place I came to sleep and place my things, a place where my friends lived, a place with memories. But then again I was still a "hobo" I was still searching for my home. I was always in need of a place that felt right, a place that brought on that sense of ease and comfort. So like a hobo I up and moved around... beacoup, çok, a lot.

I was always passing from moms house to grandmas house to sisters house then back to whomevers hosue. This sense of always moving around became some what of an addiction through travel. Whenever I was stationed at one place for too long I knew it was time for a change of scenary. My mind was always searching for that home place. I think that I would have kept searching had I not had the epiphany that what I was searching for has been with me all along.

I started to realized that what I wanted I have always had and that what I need has always been available to me. In fact I have used it and obtained it several times without grasping its true meaning. This home, this feeling that I thought was void has just been sitting there in my mind waiting for me. Its been mellowing out probably on a hammock of some distance beach memory or sippin vino on that Cinque Terra veranda or possibly hot tea in the 100 degree weather of Antalya. Its always been there. Its my little happy place, my home, my heart.

My heart or rather my soul has been laughing at me and my struggle this entire time and enjoying every minute of it. I think I have mentioned this (if not on my blog then SEVERAL times in my journals) that I talk to my self, sometime out load which in a forgein country does not help you blend it and really actually does the opposite. There are several moments where I am actually arguing with my "thoughts" telling that to please stop you are making me look like an idiot in the middle of this bazaar where I already just made an idiot of myself as I tried to speak the little turkish I know. but I digress....

Backto my original point, I am a hobo I am someone who is always homeward bound but with absolutly no clue as to where my next home will be and I am ok with that, I dont need to fight with my thoughts but rather relax and enjoy myself with my heart.

But for some reason my thoughts seem to always win in the end, mostly because they argue back.