I’m a huge fan of the phrase No Direction Home. Not simply because I dig Bob Dylan, but because those three words can say everything to everyone. You can look at the phrase “No Direction Home” and see whatever you want, hear whatever you want, and think whatever you want. Maybe I’m blowing this out of proportion, maybe it’s just me. Somehow I don’t think so though.
To me, No Direction Home brings up Dylan; that wandering, twitching whirlwind artistic spirit. But beyond that, I identify with the phrase because since I’ve turned 20 I haven’t been sure where home was. There’s no direction home because the idea of “home” isn’t something tangible. Its something to strive for, something to search for, something to look for, and something you hope you’ll know when you find it, but at this point, you don’t know what it is. I’m not at home in Calgary, but I’m not at home in British Columbia either. I don’t know where I’m supposed to be.
A strange way to feel. You get used to it. It’s not something I think about everyday, but it comes up often enough that I recognize it, and when it does I’m lost in a wander about where I’m supposed to be, what I’m supposed to be working towards, and whether or not what I’m doing is right. Then I realize that I know absolutely none of those things, and that I’m adrift and just grinding it out and working away.
Working away and moving on, with no direction home.