"I don't belong here," I utter.
"Everyone feels that way," someone might respond.
Is there a point in volleying back the conversation?
Why tell anyone?
-
For a moment I really thought England would at least go the finals. I thought that would be a good thing for my father. I really hadn't had any emotion for them until they beat Norway on Saturday. I watched that with my parents eating a meal of fried chicken like my dad requested.
I deliberately chose to stay in Virginia to be near them as they aged, but they left three years ago and my life has felt a lot disconnected ever since. The work I do connects me to here, but only so much. I hover above the playing field not quite touching anything or anyone.
I have memories of being in another country where a lot more things made sense and I wanted to understand why my parents left and why they wanted to say this place was so much better. I never quite got up the courage to go over to England myself to stay there and live there.
--
"You wouldn't belong there, either," the respondent insists. I didn't ask for an opinion but the thought came up anyway.
I don't want to answer so I turn to my journal.
While I may not belong there, I would have the chance to explore something else as opposed to writing about a place's decline. I'm not sure what I owe this place anymore. I also wonder if my work does more harm than good.
Everything I do is because my parents moved to Virginia in 1980, taking me and my siblings away from being near a big city to being in a little one. My parents did well, I guess, but I grew up feeling sad about not being in a bigger place.
When I moved to Charlottesville in 2002, I had so much hope for this place. It felt like a place that wanted to grow. It felt like that growth could be done in an interesting way. I eventually applied my journalistic lens on the place.
In 2026, I feel I have to work all of the time and I'm not even sure what I'm documenting. I seldom take any time off to see the totality of what I am doing.
"It's not that special," the voice responds.
"I agree," I say back, confident I have something to say. But I'm not ready to articulate.
---
I decide to take a day off from deadline today. I made a mistake this week and I'm ashamed because whatever presence that voice belongs to us is always observing. I read the copy I had for today's newsletter and it was not near enough to rush through so I decided it would be better to take a break from deadline.
I don't seem to be in any hurry to stop the work but that may because I get my fuel from being coiled inside an engine I've built to get information out. I do all of this by myself and struggle to explain how any of it works, or find anyone interested.
"I wouldn't mind if you tried to do the work somewhere else," the voice says.
I don't respond. It might be a trick.
I'd better get back to work.
"I don't really know why I do this," I say to the voice. "I just know you put me here."
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