Ballad of the Troubador/Song of the Wayfarer

Forty days ago, I muddled along the bus routes and through the shopping centers of Brooklyn, looking for things that are impossible to find for being products of my own imagination. I was suddenly amused when I turned to look at the mannequins at Daffy's department store. They were in the process of being changed into different clothes, and at the moment I saw them, they were stripped naked.

Daffy's is not a typical department store. The slogan that parades across their shopping bags and wallpaper states, "Clothing bargains for millionaires!" a vague description at best. Suffice it to say that their clientele is not the same that is going to be shopping at Saks Fifth Avenue or Tiffany's. At least not yet. Daffy's in New York can usually be found in the vicinity of Old Navy and TJ Maxx or Marshalls.

Daffy's mannequins are also atypical of an ordinary collection of human figurines. As the name of the store might suggest, the mannequins are very cartoonish. Not at all like the mannequins you'd see at other, trendier stores, who have been sculpted with distinct anatomical detail, and leave very little room to the imagination. Daffy's mannequins, on the other hand, are all gold statues, and they don't look human at all, which is why it was all the more amusing and disturbing to see them naked.

I looked at the statues, I laughed, and I continued down the escalator. I got to thinking about something that I think about every six months or so, which was, "What am I doing? Where am I going with my life? And why does that stuff amuse me?"

I was at a crossroads and a turning point in my life. So many things still left to accomplish, and while some of them are in reach, they just seem so far away at times. What do I need? I'll create a list of priorities. I need money. I need a job that makes me happy. I need a woman. I need a plan. I need to be able to not have to depend on others. I need to turn my life around and get facing the right direction. I need to find my place in the world.

So I did what every logically thinking human being would do, I dropped everything and left.

Several events were coming up at home that I knew I wanted to be there for. There was the prospect of going to Minnesota, to visit my sister and to return a screen-printing machine. And on top of that there was the prospect of getting out of New York for a while, a long while.

In order for it to happen, I would have to count on a lot of things to work out somewhat miraculously to allow me to leave. I would have to take an extraordinary amount of time off work, which they were somehow at peace with. I would not be working for a month. I would not be able to be their go-to guy with whatever problems came up, and I would not be able to fill in if somebody didn't show up.

If I was going to leave for a month, I would have to still find a way to pay the rent. No problem, plenty of people are itching for the chance to live in New York on a commitment-free basis. So I sublet my room to a Bulgarian gentleman in town for the summer. He got my room while I was gone, and I received a large portion of my rent money.

I had to find a way there and a way back, which would complicate things. One of the reasons I was going was to haul a huge piece of equipment there to return to its rightful owner. The screenprinting machine I'd been using for the greater part of last year was not actually mine. I was babysitting it, and now the owner wanted it back. The only catch was that the owner lives in Minnesota, in the twin cities. As convenience would have it, the twin cities are not far from where my sister went to school in Northfield.

On the way back to New York, I was planning on stopping in New Jersey, to spend a week at a summer beach house my friends and I had all gone in on renting back in October.

So I rented a moving truck to haul the screenprinting machine and some other items home, and purchased a plane ticket for the ride back.

While at home, I got in touch with all the people I had missed. I saw my mom, my brothers, my grandma, aunts, uncles, cousins, the whole works. I got to see and spend quality time with many of the friends I grew to know so dearly when I was in high school. I saw a couple pairs of friends get married. I saw people who I knew I would run into, and I saw people I didn't expect to see. I saw people I'd seen a few months back, and people I hadn't seen for years. I saw people who didn't recognize me, and those that I didn't recognize myself.

All the while, I was asked the same questions by all of them, and all the while I always felt a little uncomfortable explaining my life story to them, along with the most recent addenda and plans for the future. I suppose that's what happens when you go away for a while, though.

After weeks gone by spending time at home cleaning the house, taking care of and spending time with my brothers, and helping my mom on the farm, I departed for Minnesota to complete my mission.

I drove all the way up through Iowa, to Minnesota, where I found my sister at college. She had just finished all her schoolwork that she would ever have to do, and it was now smooth sailing until graduation. It was a perfect time for me to visit. We spent the next couple days together. She cooked a lot. I met her dearest college friends, and we went out for a night on the town in Northfield. And I returned the screenprinting machine to its owner.

Before long, though, it was time to return home. So I took in the long drive from Minnesota down to Quincy. This time, the drive was made even longer by my detours in Mason City, Iowa, to see the Music Man exhibit, Cedar Rapids, Iowa, to see Cedar Rapids and get a Maid Rite sandwich, and finally, Brandon, Iowa, to see the world's biggest frying pan.

My return home was appropriate, as I would not be able to attend Marissa's graduation, and she was going to come home again in less than one week.

Meanwhile, I was prepping for my return to the city. Before that was to happen, though, I was due in New Jersey for my annual trip to the shore. So, I got up to go to the airport early Saturday morning to fly to Philadelphia, where I would be met by my friends and a car. My sister ended up going to the airport with me a the same time, as she had a later flight to Honduras (don't ask me?).

I made it to Philly. She made it to Honduras, but we went our separate ways. I slept on the flight and on the way to New Jersey. When we arrived at our house in Jersey, it was something different than we've had before. I've gone on a trip to the Jersey Shore annually with some of my best friends that I've known since grade school. This was the first year we went without parents. We booked the house, we bought the groceries, and we had free reign of the neighborhood and the beach. The only downside was picking a week out of the year that happened to be mostly rainy.

While there, though, I got a lot of work done, editing photos, working on website, and updating my t-shirt stock. I wrote a thing or two while there as well. Since getting this handy laptop, I've been able to get a lot of things done in areas I normally wouldn't be expected to.

I played a lot of whiffleball, I got a nice tan, and I was introduced to my new favorite TV show, one of the funniest I've seen in a while, called Party Down.

After a while, though, even that week came to a close, and it was time to pack up and head home finally.

New York always feels amazing to return to, especially after you've been gone for a long time. It's so easy to get wrapped up in the rigors of daily living here, and forget why it is you live here in the first place. Every time I come back from out of town, I remember again. This time, though, it wasn't so easy, because this time it meant returning to work as soon as possible to earn a paycheck and some cash. And it meant returning to struggling and starving to make ends meet. It meant not having enough money to get the unlimited MetroCard that I hold so dear. And it meant facing the daunting tasks of making my career still set in front of me.

I didn't want to face it. I still don't. And the more I give myself a chance to think about it, the more I think that I don't fit in here, that I don't belong.

What am I? I don't know, but I sure don't belong here. The thing is though, if I didn't belong here, where did I belong? I didn't feel like I belonged anyplace I had just been; not Minnesota, not Iowa, not Quincy, and not New Jersey.

Anywhere I went, despite the people I know and love to make up those particular populations, did not make me feel like I wanted to stay. That's the problem with growing up the way I've grown up. I feel connected to so many different places, the result of moving across the country as a youngster, and going to college somewhere else, and finding (hopefully) a career and a wife somewhere else. I feel connected to the people that belong at these places, but I don't feel a connection to these places without those people. I don't have a place to belong to. I am a wayfarer, a troubador.

Travel is second nature to me. I do it so easily. It inspires me. And the only thing that makes me happy is moving along and seeing everybody.

I'm back in New York now, in the place where I always thought I would find myself belonging, but that hasn't happened yet, either. I'm returning to New York to find that many of the friends I've had here for the past year or two are now moving away or have gone. Other friends are exceedingly busy with their own lives and aren't as accessible as they were before. In New York, it's hard to see people repeatedly over short periods of time. Even though the city is so compact, and it's so easy to get around, it's still impossible to track people down unless they live in the same neighborhood as you do.

But that's ok. The ballad of the troubador states that we will meet again. As a troubador, nothing is set in stone. Lots of things are free to change near and far. Life is left to chance and fate.

But even a nomad has to call a place home, sometimes. I just hope that I find what it is exactly I'm supposed to do here. After being back for a few days, though, I still could not decide whether or not I belonged here. I could not decide whether or not I belonged here in New York, or somewhere closer to the rest of my family. The song of the wayfarer is such, that I cannot decide where to plant my feet.

To get me away from my homesickness, I went for a walk through Central Park. That always cheers me up. I walked past the Guggenheim Museum and it hit me. I stopped in my tracks and pulled out my phone to take a picture. I suddenly remembered why I live in New York. Exactly for things like that. It was a beautiful summer day. The grass was green and the sun was setting. The way the light reflected off the Guggenheim was simply breathtaking, and it inspired awe in me, so much so that I had to stop and think about it.

Ultimately, I think I want to call Manhattan home, though I don't feel I'm worthy of it quite yet. Manhattan is the reason I moved here, after all. I discovered Brooklyn almost by a fluke, but I'm certainly glad I did. It's the poor man's New York and it has a flavor all its own. Plus I can get to Manhattan anytime I want. Heck if I go one more flight up, I can look at it from my rooftop. There is a lot that might actually keep me here in Brooklyn. Maybe in the future, I might change my mind about Manhattan altogether.

For now, I am still a wayfarer, continuously searching for my destination.