The digital detritus does not decompose

In the credenza across the room is a drawer filled with old laptops and iPads. I can't let them go. Those artifacts tell a story of who I was and of the long road I'm still only partway down. From time to time I'll fire those old clunkers up for an amusing, if slow-moving, glimpse at my past self.

What brings me back most is the musical taste. It's changed - boy, has it changed. So much shitty pop! So many bands I didn't care about even at the time. These devices belonged to someone who just wanted to belong. I spent decades wandering among acquaintances and across culture; I was looking for a place to pause, to sit, to linger. Never sure who I would become, I only knew I didn't want the becoming to pass me by. In searching for who I would be, I was searching for home.

Two decades on and I've mostly called off the search. I'm here. I am who I am. I drink martinis. I stay up too late. I take long, long, long walks. I am prickly. I have chosen my family. I strive and search. I love wildly and openly. I am home; it's just me.