Nostalgia and the stoics

Travel, travel, travel
Lately, I've been travelling a considerable amount.
After returning to Spain for Christmas, while time slipped away from me through the open window because it's not so cold in Madrid, I had a revelation.
My revelation was, in fact, quite simple. It may surprise you now when I express in words the work of my consciousness.
I realised that I no longer belong to any place in a linear way; I always belong to the place where I am exactly situated at that given moment.
When I am in my hometown, sitting in front of the fan looking at the sea, I am every grain of sand.
When I am in Madrid, I am the asphalt and I am the pollution.
When I am in Utrecht, I am the rain and moss.
When I am in Germany, I am my best friend's lair.

I think I'm going to start living like the Stoics
I'll be a cosmopolitan
cosmos
everything
without land
I will try to be in tune with the asphalt I tread or the grass I smell

Because, in the end, does it matter to me whether I live in a prison or a palace?

Nostalgia is dangerous, and in these cold months, it approaches some of us too closely.
Embrace it and let it go.