We stumbled upon one of those traveling carnivals by accident and after much begging, we stopped and let Emma ride the rides. The sun was just setting. The carnival was soon lit in a mosaic of twinkling lights.
The carnival moves from town to town, never staying more than a week or two in any one location. What must that be like? To be on the move constantly? There’s a huge amount of anonymity in that, an appealing thought. To blend in and not be known.
The flip, of course, is that there are no roots. No one knows you or cares about you.
But I wonder how many of us spend years in the same place and still don’t know anyone; have never set down real roots in a place. That’s how I feel about the place I live now. I’ve been here 6 years. I know people and I know my way around. But I don’t feel rooted to the place. There’s no sense of belonging for me here.
Perhaps because I had that before and I know what it means. To really belong to a place.
Where do you belong?