It’s the annual summertime dance around the expat maypole— if the maypole was made up of travel documents, shipping instructions, and school applications with ribbons of packing tape flying in the breeze.
Be patient with me over the next year, kid. It’s the end of the beginning. Or perhaps it is the beginning of the end.
Don’t get hung up on boxes. They’re overrated. The edges are sharp and you get paper cuts on your heart. Color outside the lines. Leave yourself room to walk out. Try circles or rhombuses or heck, go wild with a dodecahedron.
…aging on the way to old? Well that is too much. There is too much raw energy, too much bare anger and rage and all the feelings worn on the outside, showing, demanding we look.