The Nomadic Life

Columbus Ohio

Chapter 36

I sit here, the blinking cursor mocking me with its relentless rhythm. I search my mind for the right words to describe my time in Columbus, Ohio, but they never come. No colorful phrases, no witty reflections, just emptiness. I leave behind a tourist’s paradise for a city that could be any other. Sure, there is an active nightlife to enjoy, and I meet some kind people, but even so, it never feels comfortable. I do not dislike it, but I never feel like I belong. Deep down, I know it’s only a matter of time before Columbus joins the long list of cities I pass through, but never call home.

"Always make the best of a bad situation, and trust that you are exactly where you need to be." These two phrases have always been my survival mantra. The why may not be immediately clear, but in time, fate always reveals its hand, and that is when I understand the reason why I was placed on each path I have taken.

Still young enough to go out drinking all night, I should feel free, unencumbered and alive. But something shifts inside me, soft at first, like a whisper I cannot quite catch. It grows louder and heavier with each passing day. Mornings used to be just groggy pit stops before the next big weekend of partying. Now I wake up with a weight on my chest, a gnawing feeling that I am running out of road. With an empty wallet and clothes that reek of sweat, stale cigarette smoke and booze, there is something harder to ignore, a clear sense of regret.

What happened to the wide-eyed wanderer, the happy-go-lucky nomad who thrived on chaos, who laughed in the face of consequence? Why am I suddenly thinking about tomorrow instead of living for today? There are changes happening to me, quite shifts in thought, and uncomfortable questions I cannot ignore. Mentally and emotionally, I do not recognize myself. The thrill from a night out on the town barely lasts until sunrise. The joy is dissipating, like a song slowly fading and losing tempo with each day.

I have started thinking about things I never used to, bills, health, and how after the stranger I met last night vanishes by morning, leaving me laying there, alone feeling physically fulfilled yet, emotionally empty. I do not understand what is happening to me. This is not a choice, but a shift. It feels like I am being dragged across some invisible threshold I never asked to cross.

Puberty hit my body like a storm I was unable to stop. But this, this change is deeper. The outside world cannot see me unraveling, but I can feel the change hitting harder, like my soul is molting, peeling away pieces of who I used to be. The vibrant, carefree spirit I so proudly once was, is fading, replaced by someone quieter, more thoughtful and reflective. Who the hell is this person? And why can I not stop it from happening?

Is living in this city doing this to me? Is it time for me to run again? Should I go back to where I was happiest and try to recapture the old me? Something within me whispers that time in my life is over. That version of me is gone and I must move on. But where to? I ask myself.

I go out on the weekends and try to deafen these unsettling thoughts. The goal is simple, I will drink my way back to being footloose and carefree. But my attempts to be jovial fall short. The jokes I crack do not quite land and my smile feels like it is stitched on with thread that is almost too thin to hold. funny now feel forced and uncomfortable.

Still, I refuse to give in. I fight this change tooth and nail. I will not allow these doubts to steal from me my good times. I may have had no choice in growing into this adult body, but I will be damned if I let life steal my youth without a fight. For as long as there are bars to sit in and beer to drink, I will be me and remain forever young.

Or so I thought.

Somewhere, in the quiet between the drinks and the noise, I feel it. The transference. The truth I do not want to say out loud.

What suddenly is causing all this self-reflection and doubt? Is there something in my life that is missing? I have friends, a nice place to live and enough money in my pocket. So why do I feel so lost, hopeless and hollow? It does not make sense. I have always managed to ride out emotional storms by convincing myself tomorrow would be better, that yesterday’s troubles would fade away with the sunrise.

But this time things feel different.

The road ahead doesn’t look as promising as it used to. The future I once imagined for myself has blurred, and in its place, I see someone older, alone. A man no one loves, no one waits for. That image haunts me, not because it is just a fear, but because deep down, I know it to be the truth I have been running from.

I know what is missing. I just don’t want to admit it.

It is one word. One simple word that makes everything else make sense, family.

And in there lies the rub.

I never really had a family.

My mother gave me up. My father was never in the picture. I was dropped into a family not of my choice, and I never truly belonged. I was always the outsider looking in.

I had it once, or maybe something close to it, back in Jackson, Mississippi. But I was too young then to recognize its worth. When you are in your twenties, you do not see the world clearly, and so I never realized Richard and Dewey were my first real family.

The harsh lesson I am now learning is that friends and lovers will leave, but family is the one constant in life that keeps you grounded.

Now, as age creeps in and maturity tries to stake its claim, I find myself numbing the edges with beer, hoping the kegs never run dry, because the thought of facing another tomorrow sober and alone is more than I can bear.

So I sit here, stagnant, not wanting to see what life keeps laying bare. But fate has a way of dragging the truth into the light, regardless of how tightly I shut my eyes. No matter how much I try to blind myself with alcohol, music and tawdry affairs, the emptiness I feel is of my own making. I have been pointing in every direction except one, the mirror. There is no one else left to blame.

It has always been me.

Unable to deny my truth any longer, I must take a long hard look at myself. The lines on my face now read like a poorly navigated roadmap. A stark reminder of all the miles, people and years left behind.

Do I stay here in Columbus and drown my sorrows, or do I try to escape?

As always, the nomad rises to the surface, ready to save the day.