The transatlantic move and Great American Road Trip have ended. We’ve arrived at our destination – California. Now comes the tricky bit. Moving from one state to another in the U.S.A. is a headache, to be sure. But moving from overseas and establishing yourself outside your home state is bureaucratic transcendence.
Take health insurance, for example. Moving from England, we couldn’t pre-register for health insurance because the insurance company bases its policy on the laws of your resident state – I don’t have a resident state. Yet, traveler’s insurance only covers you if you intend to return to your point of origin – in my case, England. And I happen to be sorting this out during the roll-out of Obamacare AND a post-government-shutdown reshuffling.
Months of living in a state of flux has unhinged me. I wonder if my sense of home has become permanently unfixed. If I’ll forever be just off kilter, flitting eyes over the landscape, searching. Maybe the idea of “home” is the mirage, and what is fleeting is real.
The address on my Virginia driver’s license was four moves ago and now doesn’t exist. The housing development was demolished. If I’m not careful, I could make a metaphor of this.