Wanderlust

Been thinking lately about the idea of wanderlust. Is it a malady or a boon? The ultimate literary example of wanderlust is Ishmael, the narrator and protagonist of Herman Melville's Moby Dick. Ishmael, who must take himself to see whenever he finds himself "grim of mouth" for fear of knocking the hats off people's heads as he walks down the street.

I can sympathize.

I've moved more times then I can count and find myself wanting to move again.
Feeling the constraints of small town, dreaming of the city, San Francisco, Oakland and all of the adventures I dream await me.

Yet, how many times can one move in a lifetime? Look at the trouble that Ishmael's constant wanderings brought him. He watched all his shipmates die and almost died at the hands of the great white whale. But how boring might his life have been if he stayed on shore?

The Voting Conundrum

I don't believe in the system and yet I plan on voting. I feel like I was brainwashed at some point (probably elementary school about the same time that we had to make miniature representations of the Nina, the Pinta and the Santa Maria) into thinking that my vote actually counts for something. This is an idea that has proven to be a blatant myth after the last two elections, which were unofficially stolen by our Alfred E. Neuman dictator "leader." Yet, here come the primaries and I find myself weighing who to vote for, without faith in any of them. Somewhere inside my brain, there must be a subconscious desire to feel that I still have some agency in this country, I want to believe the democracy myth, and voting acts as that one frayed root that keeps me connected to the tree. Who am I going to vote for? Does it matter? Not really.