Home Is a Feeling.

My hometown no longer feels like home. You no longer make my heart race, Detroit. You once felt like the entire world to me, and presently, I perceive you as much smaller. You have nurtured me in your dauntless bosom. You have befriended my pain. You have provided access to a plethora of multicultural institutions. You enthusiastically celebrate diversity and inspire the youth to think broadly and create fiercely. You are a kettle of artistry that is thriving creatively. Your array of historic architecture and diverse neighborhoods strengthen spirits of individuals despite their personal hardships. You are taking the necessary steps toward reversing economic upheaval and are progressively rising from the ashes of decline. But, I personally must resist the impoverishing confines of comfort. I am breaking up with you, Detroit. And this time, I fucking mean it.

There is a displeasing bitter aftertaste soaked in my taste buds at the end of each day. I feel a gut-wrenching punch of anxiety beneath the surface of my chest. I am restless. I am far less connected to my surroundings. I am discontent living in a city where my personal history is written in every district. I feel suppressed rather than safeguarded. I am suffering mental affliction as disfiguring as rickets and witnessing the color saturation of my perception of Detroit draining from my vision. I stuck a dirty needle in my veins and shot myself up with a dose of lethal familiarity. Environments, activities and relationships that I was wholeheartedly engaged in one year ago no longer provoke a slight feeling within me. I am infused with sensations and decrepit memories swarming through city streets that carry tones of my tender years. It is difficult for me to creatively transform the mundane into magic in Detroit. I am bitter. I am living with an intense desire for any jazzed up liveliness other than my present melancholic wistfulness. Although migrating back to my old hood has candidly displayed the magnitude of my progress in life, I am consciously aware of the deep regret that I feel coruscating through my being. Everything has changed. Everything. I am itching to pack up my five belongings, toss my crown of illusion out the window and scatter my seashells amongst unfamiliar freshwater creeks. I turned a corner one day and stopped dead in my tracks to feel an antarctic breeze of realization sweep over the warmth of nostalgia. The beauty of the unfamiliar and discomfort of disequilibrium fucking seduce me. And with one failed attempt under my belt and a far more mature and practical mind, I am leaving my hometown, again, and moving back to California and creating a home base in the city and culture that I have once taken for granted and genuinely do adore on May 1st, 2016.

Trust me, I fucking know that my present-day personal discontentment, internal suffering and first world problems are not special; I perceive my desolate despair as an opportunity for me to grow beyond myself and my current circumstances. I understand that there are individuals who would kill to live the life that I am living. I understand that poverty encompasses a wide range of individuals all over the world. I understand that there are individuals with worn out eyes, frail bodies and empty stomachs who live on streets that reek of dirt and filth. I will not turn a blind eye to the fucking fact that there are children in this world who are slaves to their parents circumstances and stripped of their innocence while fucking trafficked for sex in deplorable living conditions. I understand that hunger is a debilitating crisis that has millions of individuals deep in its grips. And here I am; enjoying a surfeit of organic meals, sleeping in a warm bed that takes shelter in a bewitching loft overlooking the breathtaking cityscape, driving my inessential brand new car, getting a weekly massage, drinking clean alkaline water, and tuned in to incredible megalomaniac arrogance that I exhibit…..#micdrop.

I am red-blooded and dauntless. I will never be as young again as I am in this very moment. I do not have any substantial obligations. I do not have children. I do not have a mortgage. I am going to die someday and I am out of excuses. I am done aiming to immerse myself as a local in Detroit. I do not have anything holding me back other than my damn self. In my herculean effort to seek the ever-changing pot of gold at the end of my rainbow, becoming substantially wealthy with new experiences is my mission. I am willing to take risks. I am willing to challenge myself by placing myself in environments that will eat me alive and spit out my meager white bones to dry in sweltering hot sand. I have an inherent psychological need for unconformability, as I perceive it to stimulate new thought and creativity. I am endlessly revamping my mental and behavioral patterns and luxuriate in fully immersing myself in what I perceive to be the danger zone. I need to fly in the face of demanding and passionate stimulation. Ample living challenges throw me in the deep end, expose my personal blockages and shine a light on the nitty-gritty in my life. The western landscape of the United States is nothing short of magical tonic that fuels my free spirit and feeds the fire of my curiosity. Nothing to lose has afforded me infinite possibility, and I have provided myself with undeniable proof that I am creatively gifted and have what it takes to take risks in order to create the life that I want to live.

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Yes, I will miss the love expressed in the nurturing eyes of my mother. Yes, I will miss my altruistic, warmhearted and supportive family. But, this is radical responsibility; being accountable and accepting responsibility for my own life. I have no idea what challenges or opportunities I may come across, but I do have a choice to face them. I know and understand very little about our world and have a surplus of questions that I want answered. It both breaks and invigorates my heart that I have come to realize the reasons why I left my hometown in the first place. I am done sitting back like a horse in a stable. I am the architect of my life and there is no fucking way to get back the experiences that I missed. I know that there is going to be a difficult road ahead, and it is paradoxically necessary toward putting more muscle in my hustle and creatively incorporating the lightning strikes of inspiration that I receive from the enrapturing unknown.

I may never have a complete sense of home again. I am a cropland of conundrums. Presently, I perceive home to be the aromatic salty smell of the ocean air and coming home with sand in every crevice of my body. Home is mingling with invigorating minds. Home is breaking away from attachments. Home is exposing myself to new lifestyles and cultures. Home is the conversation I have with a 75-year-old stranger on a jam-packed subway train. Home is expressing and exploring my independence. Home is taking the roller coaster ride on full throttle. Home is intimately crying my fucking eyes as I joint out of slumber and rejoin the land of the living. Home is a feeling. It’s been real, Detroit, but the dance has ended. The world is my oyster.

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