Scrambler

​An Australian Creative Director and Strategist fumbles through life in America. Live from New York.

An Australian Creative Director and Strategist fumbles through life New York City.

this doesn't feel like home.

Homesickness is a prick of a thing.

You go months not thinking about home: I mean thinking about it really. Not thinking about home, friends, family. I mean, of course they flash into your mind all the time, but they pass like hunger, like boredom, like lust…just fleeting emotions that venture forth into the forefront of your mind, but then quickly slip away as the here and now resumes control. Reality sets in: you live in the moment, or at least the reality to which you are acustomed.

Every now and again they take control, and you find yourself lost without a home base or a solid grounding. They suddenly dominate your thoughts, usually in a montage of high paced memories: people, places, situations, locations and feelings, long since sidelined. You suddenly remember vividly a music festival four years ago, or a night at a friends house that rushes back as clear as day; or a day at work, or a day at the beach, or a quiet night where you smell her hair and hug her back. It’s amazing how your brain stores these emotional triggers, and how vividly they flow back and alter you.

You long for conversations already had. You miss relationships dead and buried, moved on from and lost in the ether. You miss the feel of someone. You miss a voice. You miss a touch from someone. You miss the people that made you who you are now.

And you realise you are a long way from home, and it hits you like ton of bricks. The worst part is trying to separate the legitimate feeling of homesickness from the silly longing for the past, and the urge to go back to what you know, or at least what seems right in retrospect.

You don’t know, and the confusion is very hard to deal with.