The nomadic life

The End of The Journey?

Chapter 25

When I was young, the idea of starting fresh in a new city thrilled me. I thrived on the challenge, drawn to the unknown, eager to uncover what made each town and city unique. The mystery of tomorrow fueled my dreams, and the fear of what lay ahead made me feel alive.

I traveled across this vast, beautiful country, embracing life with open arms.

In San Francisco, I witnessed love in its purest form. I was in awe, men and women were walking hand in hand along Castro Street, unashamed, unapologetic, showing the world that love knows no single shape.

In San Diego, I learned what love truly was. But I also learned that love, no matter how deep, does not always lead to happiness.

I found someone who loved me, but his past wounds ran too deep. Someone before me had shattered his trust, leaving scars that time could not erase. No matter how much I loved him, no matter how patient I was, he could never give his heart to me fully. Our time together was fleeting yet profound. We lived in this world, but also within our own, a place where time stood still. Our relationship was all I could ever have hoped for, and yet, it was never meant to be. Another harsh life lesson I would be forced to learn, all good things must end.

Seven years passed before I finally accepted the truth: he loved me, but love was not enough to keep us together. His fear of giving his heart and losing himself to another was greater than his desire to build something real. And so, my heart did not break, not in the way one might expect. Instead, it grew, carrying him with me, a part of it forever his, so it, and my soul, refused to shatter.

And had I not let him go, I might never have recognized the rare and precious love I later found.

That love, the one that nearly destroyed me when I lost it, came to me in Ohio.

In March of 2004 I declared Cincinnati to be my home. I once craved the thrill of new beginnings, but something about planting roots this time felt right. The nomad bought a house near his father’s home in 2012, and at the closing of his loan he would sign away his wandering days with the stroke of a pen.

I had found my soulmate.

Love had finally settled my restless heart. My days were filled with a radiating warmth I had never imagined possible. I no longer searched, no longer longed for something more. I had it. At night, I held the world in my arms, secure in the knowledge that I was where I was meant to be.

And then, in an instant, it was gone.

Loss came suddenly, cruelly. When your soulmate is taken from you without warning, the world becomes unrecognizable. The air is heavier, the colors duller. Time does not move forward so much as it drags you unwillingly along.

Eleven years of waking up with purpose, knowing that no matter what came, we would face it together. Over a decade of laughter and precious quiet moments, of belonging to something greater than myself.

And with one medical diagnosis, it all unraveled.

I watched helplessly as the person who completed me faded away. I held his hand as he took his last breath, and with it, the meaning of my life slipped into darkness. The home we built together became a house of echoes, a place haunted by love and absence in equal measures. The walls, once my refuge, have now become my prison.

I yearn to break free. I yearn to love again. But my best years are behind me now and I know it.

Once, I would have chased a new beginning. Once, not so long ago, I would have packed my bags and sought adventure in a city where no one knew my name. Where I could start over, fresh and alive once more. But time changes you. Grief changes you. Now, fear outweighs desire, and I am left questioning who I have become.

I was once the wide-eyed dreamer, the explorer. Then, I was the man who had finally found myself, and a home in another’s arms.

Now? Now, I am neither.

I am a man who no longer dares to believe in love and happiness. A man who feels the world has moved on without him.

I pour what energy I have for life into my family, they are all I have left. But there is an ache that never fades, a whisper of something missing. I once thought love was a fantasy, but I lived it, held it and tragically lost it. And now I must navigate a world where I fear love no longer exists.

So, I write. I relive the memories, both beautiful and painful, because they remind me that once, I was alive. That at one time, I was more than this hollow shell.

Is this it for the nomad? Has the road finally reached its end, leading only to a life where each day bleeds into the next, where happiness is a memory rather than a promise?

Tomorrow is never guaranteed. Yesterday is already gone.

And today?

Today is the tomorrow I once feared.

Nothing changes unless I choose to change it.

But will I dare?

Is adventure still within me or has time crushed all hope?

If I do not look in the mirror, I am still me, I still want to live a full life. I want to face tomorrow with a smile and open heart. But then, I look in the mirror and staring back at me is an old man I do not recognize, one who does not appear to have any life left in him. I doubt he could survive one week in a new city; much less begin a completely new life.

My eyes no longer burn with the same brilliance they once did. The wrinkles etched into my face are a roadmap where in lies the story of the thousands of places I’ve visited, and the millions of moments which have shaped the man I have become. But if you look closely, you can also see sorrow, regret and the weight of the past six decades which have carved lines of pain deeper than the Grand Canyon. Each wrinkle, a sad reminder of the hopeful nomad I was so proud of being. Once a fearless traveler who spent his youth in pursuit of life’s wonders. Now before me stands a stranger, a reflection of someone unfamiliar staring blankly back at me.

What happened to the man who once laughed with abandon, the one who looked at the world as if it could never hurt him? Now, all that remains is a terrified shell, waiting for the moment I will be released from this earthly prison. I wait for that final hour when my soul will slip free, to join the voices of all those who have gone before me.

What awaits me beyond this world? Will I find peace in the endless horizon, or will I spend eternity endlessly searching for him, that part of myself whom I loved so fiercely and so completely. Will I reunite with that rare, all-encompassing love sung about in songs and recited in ancient poetry and prose? Will I be reunited with the love I never dared dream could ever exist but somehow found me, only to be mercilessly taken without warning?

Fate, being the cruel mistress she is, allowed me to be touched by something extraordinary, and yet, forced him from my embrace, lost in time.

Is it possible, in the vast silence of eternity, that I will find his soul again? Will the light we both shared be bright enough to guide me to him? Will the bond and devotion we enjoyed be enough to guide me? We promised each other forever. Will we finally have our eternity together? Or will the nomad’s forever be spent searching aimlessly in the emptiness and darkness where the echoes of who he and I once were have been lost, swallowed whole by vast nothingness. For if that is all there is left after we are gone, then that my friends is truly my hell.