In the past week, I have begun to leave Greece. I have just over one month left, and I have noticeably started to slow. I can feel myself taking stock and checking out. I have been begun retuning borrowed items to friends who generously lent me this and that, and I catch myself looking down streets lovingly, as if this were the last time I would see them. It is strange bracing yourself for another big move, especially because I am still not sure exactly were I will be going, whether option A or option B will take effect.

As I have spent the past seven months trying figuring out where I am and what I am doing, I am now thinking about how to exit this odd city gracefully. Leaving is never as easy as I would like, and not matter how I try, there will be untied strings at the end of my stay here. Many of my Greek friends here are astonished at the way that my life seems to be going; leaping sideways between places and families and friends. Happy or not, they are strongly rooted here, and they shake their heads when I tell them my plans. My African friends know this kind of life, and the shake-ups that always happen with movement. They smile knowingly when I say that I am going, and they ask if I can take them with. Back to America? Maybe. Sort of. What kind of answer is that? I suppose that everyone wants to find his or her perfect home and there are many of us who are learning to make our homes in the space inbetween.