People have differing experiences. I’m able to peer far enough past my crumbling walls of self to get that. Most can’t. As much as I would love to live on a planet populated with seven billion copies of myself, I have to be realistic and admit that’s probably not gonna happen.
I think an example is in order.
Some people, or so I’ve heard, are born, raised and live their entire lives in the same house.
“Yep. I’ve lived here my whole life. I’m 86 years old and I’ve never lived anywhere else. Same house, same town. Same, same, same. And it didn’t affect me, either. Now if you’ll excuse me I’ve got to get back to licking the walls. It’s all original paint, baby.”
As a different person, I find the idea of staying in one place to be completely astounding. Unimaginable.
Unfortunately, records of my birth and previous residences were lost in the great fire at the Library of Alexandria, so no one knows my true age or how many times I’ve moved. But it is estimated to be at least one move for every year of my life. And I’m a person who absolutely abhors moving. That explains why it has happened to me so many times.
I just tried a mental exercise in counting. I don’t have enough fingers to count the number of cities where I’ve lived. And I’ve spent time in at least four different states. (I’m talking United States, not altered.)
So, yeah, I did have this dream of picking a spot, putting down some roots, and refusing to move until the day I died. A guru can dream, can’t he?
And I had even picked out the perfect place for it, too. The Taker Ponderosa.
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