Wherever I go, I will be home because I will take with me my own moveable feast. I will be on my Awe Tour all the time, taking notes and adding them to my repertoire, which includes: Ernest Hemingway, my favorite people and memories, wines that I love and songs too, pictures I took and people I thought I have forgotten but haven’t, books I have read and sentences I remember from where I do not know, miracles I have been privy to or part of all along the way, things I am not proud of alongside my greatest accomplishments, the talisman I wear around my neck, and a paper scrawled with all the things that would fit on it which bring me wonder. All of these things will be part of my movable feast. As I get older, it will grow, and it will shrink, and it may grow again, but it will always be movable unless I forget that it is.
And I will never forget.
I will carry Hemingway in my breast pocket or the equivalent of that, maybe on my iPad or Kindle, and I will reach for him if I start to feel like I am being swallowed by nothingness or everythingness or Facebook.
I will pour myself a glass of something red, get a nice pen, and maybe some nice stationery for Hemingway’s sake, and I will neatly write out all the things that are included in my moveable feast, for as long as it takes.