The thought

There was nothing unusual happening. I was sitting on a bench. The castle was there, as always. And the thought was there too.

I see this castle almost every day but usually I hardly notice it. I’ve seen it under summer light and winter clouds. In the rain, in the fog, at sunset, lit up at night. I’ve walked beneath it thousands of times, usually with the dog, occasionally without him, often daydreaming.

And one day, I look up and there it is again. The same castle, on the same hill, above the same little town. And for a sec I feel surprised. And the thought rises.

How did I end up here?

Nothing dramatic. Just pure curiosity. A few years ago I was living somewhere else. Before that, somewhere else again. Every move taught me that the feeling isn’t really connected to the location. I felt it in Athens even though it is my birthplace. I felt it in Crete, my homeland. And I feel it here. A strange sense of being both at home and a visitor. As if part of me never fully settles anywhere.

For a long time I thought this was something I should eventually overcome. That one day I would arrive somewhere and finally feel that I had reached my destination. Now I’m not so sure. Maybe some people are rooted in places while others are drawn to movement.

Sometimes I think about it in terms of dogs and cats. A dog can move from one house to another and adapt surprisingly quickly, as long as the people it loves come along. Home, for the dog, is wherever its people are. And all my dogs have learned firsthand that living with me involves a fair amount of moving around.

Cats seem different. They tend to become attached to places. Moving them somewhere new often leads them to escape and try to return to their previous home. I don’t know if that's entirely true but I've always believed it. And I left my favourite cat behind two moves ago. He is still there, on the same street where he grew up.

Humans can follow either of those behaviours. Some people appear deeply rooted in places. The scenery becomes part of their identity. Others seem more attached to people, experiences, or perhaps even movement itself. I guess there are many variations in between and I honestly don’t know where I belong on that spectrum.

The only thing I know is that every place I’ve lived eventually became familiar enough to feel like home and strange enough to remind me that life could have unfolded differently. Perhaps that isn’t a contradiction. Maybe that’s the whole point.

Happy July, wherever it finds you.

Stefanos