Your words are immensely relatable, Kayli Kunkel.

Like you, I moved extensively as a teenager then an adult, lived on the road for longer than was probably good for my mental health at the time, and shed material trappings along the way, donating most everything including my entire European library.

I’m from France and all the books I accumulated until I moved to the Azores in 2008 are… gone. Forever. But I comfort myself with the though that they found thoughtful readers who are enjoying them. To this day, one of my favorite things to do is to give one of my own books to someone I know will appreciate it. To me, books are energy exchange made manifest, they’re not supposed to gather dust on a shelf but instead change hands as often as possible.

Since 2013, I’ve lived in the upper let corner of the US after yet another stint as a digital nomad and I thought I was finally putting down roots for the first time in my life but America feels like an organ transplant that didn’t take and I have to go back to Europe as my stepmom is very sick.

So I’m picking up my life again, throwing it into a suitcase, and preparing myself for a year of comings and goings between two continents.

Home is the body I live in, and wherever the heart is but belonging remains elusive.

Thank you for your words, I now need to go read all of them :-)

PS/For the very same reason you outline, I relate to the plight of migrants who have to run away in the clothes they’re in, pretty much. That’s what my ancestors did, on both sides.

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