Living transiently

I wrote a post a few years past about how since our high school graduation, Kyle and I have lived quite nomadically, living in the same city, state, house, or country for no more than two years in a row.  Starting in college:
'01- Texas Tech
'03- College internship in Orlando, Florida working for the Mouse at Walt Disney World.
'04- UT (Hook 'em) You know the game, studying hard getting those valuable BS's.
Fal '05- Italy study abroad program- AMAZING and Europe Travel
"06- Austin and San Antonio- Yep, we lived in both cities that year.
'07- Chile (teaching English, our first taste of it. I'm kinda surprised we kept teaching after wards)
'08- San Antonio, and a few months in Seattle with my aunt
'09- present- off and on living and teaching in South Korea

We've lived our life in such a manner for a few reasons, one being that we like adventure. We're young, and we're lucky enough not to have ropes hitching us to anyone location.  There's something so thrilling about visiting a new place.  It's kind of like being a child again, feeling aware of the entire world around you rather than just walking through it like a ghost.  Every smell, every building, every expression, every sound is novel and titillating.  When you travel, your senses flicker to life, where they had been bored into monotony before.  Life is full of flavor both fascinating, and disgusting.  There's a lot to be said about traveling, living abroad, and seeing the world.
But with everything in life there are downsides as well; nothing is perfection.  Even Italian cream cake, which might seem flawless, isn't perfect for every meal.  If you eat too much of it, you bound not to hold a very pleasing figure for very long.  Our lives, although arguably very exciting, (and lets be honest about excitements, not all are the positive kinds), has definite pitfalls.  One of those pitfalls being the transiency of it all.   Nothing is permanent.  No one is permanent. When purchasing items, it's necessary to consider whether it will be sold, given away, consumed or shipped at the end of the year. You make friends only with the clear understanding, that at the end of the year, sometimes longer, you'll say goodbye, and most of the time forever.  When I first got to Korea, I made some fantastic friends.  Several of those friends have remained here in Korea during the duration of my time here, but our time together is dwindling.  I've said goodbye at this point countless times; so many times that it no longer really throws me for a loop.  People come in Korea, and people go.  That is the how the transient life works. You make friends, they leave, you make more friends, they leave or you leave, and the cycle continues.  Its laboriously frustrating, and painful.  When I make friends, generally, its because the person adds something special to my life, and when they leave, they take their specialty away.  A friend of mine left his weekend.  She's been my most constant, and definitely one of my best friends I've made in this crazy country.  We've kept each other sane.  And now my sanity has sashayed out the door, and I'm left feeling sad about the non-permanence of it all.  We all make decisions in life which lead us down a specific path.  I don't regret the life we've chosen, but it's not always as romantic as it might seem to outsiders and some days I just want normalcy. But then again, I travel partially to escape the normal because its monotony is uninspiring.  As with so many aspects of life, its a double edged sword, but I guess thats what makes life thrilling, or exhausting, depending on your mood or perspective.

On a more positive note, the friends we make and leave behind, generally make travel easier. Those friends who have come in and out of my life also have couches we might one day crash on.  So to all of my friends who have spun through the revolving door of nomadic travels, remember, that where ever I am, you always have a couch, if not a bed to crash upon, and I one day hope in either of our travels, I pray I have the pleasure of seeing you again.