Clearly, I've stolen my title from the Elizabeth Bishop poem, a poem I love. I think of this poem when I travel, especially the last two stanzas which read:
"Is it lack of imagination that makes us come
to imagined places, not just stay at home?
Or could Pascal have been not entirely right
about just sitting quietly in one's room?
Continent, city, country, society:
the choice is never wide and never free.
And here, or there . . . No. Should we have stayed at home,
wherever that may be?"
The questions that Bishop poses here resonate with me. I love to travel, but I sometimes wonder, especially right now, about the tensions that my travel decisions involve. Those tensions often lead to feelings of dislocation, wherever I am. I think there are times when I actually find comfort in feeling dislocated. It's so much a part of my life.