Tuesday, April 3, 2012

Song of the Week: Frank Turner

Man alive!

"The Road" by Frank Turner is my theme song:

To the east, to the east, the road beneath my feet. 
To the west, to the west, I haven’t got there yet. 
To the north, to the north, never to be caught. 
To the south, to the south, my time is running out.
 Ever since my childhood I’ve been scared,
 I’ve been afraid, of being trapped by circumstance, of staying in one place,
 and so I always keep a small bag full of clothes carefully stored,
 somewhere secret, somewhere safe, 
somewhere close to the door.

 Many of my peers talk about owning homes and settling down. The whole idea of a 30 year mortgage scares the cheez whiz out of me. And it’s not the money part; it’s the staying in the same place for 30 years part.  To my little wander’s soul, that sounds more like a prison sentence than to something that I should aim towards. Unless there is an argument for aiming towards a prison sentence? Label it restlessness or wanderlust, but nowhere I have ever lived has felt permanent. Every place, every apartment, every job I have ever had has had this sense of being temporary and fleeting, just a stepping stone to something else. Some places have been easy to leave and move on, while others tugged a little stronger for me to stay. But the promise of a fresh start, or a new chapter, or just the winds of change (cue the Scorpions) is always a little stronger. Songs like "The Road" reminds me that it just isn’t about me not growing up or sucking it up, that there are other roamers and wanders out there, happy members of a misfit tribe.  

But sometimes I think I just haven’t found a place, the place, my place, to settle down, to call Home with a capital H. And to be completely honest, the wander's life can get a little lonely.  Every now and then, I do feel a yearning for a place of my own. A place where every corner and squeaking tile is mine.  A place where I can keep my spices in alphabetical order.  A place where I have favorite diner where there is a waitress named Flo who knows I only take real whipped cream with my pie. A place and a reason to come home to . . . and stay.  

If you couldn't tell, Frank Turner is a Brit and is currently touring in Europe and Canada, probably eating good cheese, poutine, and breaking hearts. 

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