String Theory

In a few hours I will get on a train headed for Chicago. We're moving Kirsten out of the city she's called home for four years now and into the sub-posh digs at my Ferndale Manor. I've been Lord of the Manor for nearly eight years (with a couple of key co-Lords along the way), but the house has never felt so bright as when she's powering it.

I have a theory about places. It's not even a theory really, as much as a mental picture: as we go about our days, driving the same routes to and from work, crossing the same streets, frequenting the same shops, we pull an invisible yarn behinds us that threads through the soul of things. It's just yarn - a couple of passes with it and it won't hold, you could pull it out with a tug. But do that for a year or five - or in my case eight - and you've sewn yourself down. That's how roots are made. I'm not against roots, or the feeling of home, but I know that I've outgrown a lot of things in the past few years. Inside, I'm not tied down to the same states of mind I was. At some point we have to cut those strings and sew new ones in new places that have room for our better versions.

For the immediate future though, Kirsten and I will happily settle in at the Manor and continue our scheme of love. And as soon as we can bounce out of there, we will. It's all about new starts these days, new territories. I'm anxious to hit all those new territories with this face by my side: