The existential malaise of transitional life is setting in once again. But this time, without the excitement of foreign lands and far off places, new friends yet to be met, new quandaries yet to be pondered.

This is not my usual tone.

I've been reading blogs at work.

But, lacking a goal on the horizon, I look for work, any work, that keeps me occupied, from doctoral studies applications to GIS studies of conflict, sudoku on the train to poetic rambles of people who hardly know me (or once did).

An academic? definitely, but do academics find any place in reality or are we doomed to mentally wander without leaving the comfort and confines of the arm chair?

I went to North Carolina last weekend, for a festival of sorts. The food was terrific, the music was smooth and polished with the grit of folk, and the hippies were plentiful. I still have the glow stick I was handed upon arrival stuffed in my purse. The glow has faded but it serves as a reminder of who I am, where I come from and what I love about life. The festival was a community, strangers to me but merely friends I hadn't met (to be as cliched as possible). It was sleepless nights and lazy days and over too quickly but it reminded me of the joy of living in the middle of nowhere and the hope that while I spend my time thinking of what I can do that will both be beneficial to me and others, I also can't lose touch with my roots.

The middle of nowhere is a good place to start and to hold on to.