Your correspondent has actually been what could possible be called an immigrant on maybe three, possibly five or six separate occasions. It would be nice to think he'd had some sort of plan, or ambition, but it would be completely false to think that. Neither plans nor dreams nor ambitions have greatly influenced him through the course of his life and in this respect he does have some vague, very distant resemblance to our heroic hero. I guess too there's an argument for the idea of an "Accidental Immigrant." He or she is a good distance from a Refugee, whose only interest, despite rumor to the contrary, is to secure a meal and a place to sleep, some kind of stability. And an Accidental Immigrant is about a million miles from the sort of Immigrant that hopes through starting a new life they might one day own something like a swimming pool, three car garage and all the hoopla that many of the sadder dreams are made of.
In a sense none of us really choose our lives, accident of birth, the moment in
history, and a whole range of things which tell us what we are supposed to be
and as a rule we just say "Yes." And I guess there is in the condition of
"Accidental Immigrant" an opportunity to leave behind by starting again. However
when joining a newness there is the suggestion that a person should assimilate.
Kind of like "When In Rome." I used to think that an assimilation to a new set
of normal's took around five years. Actually for some of us more stubborn
Accidental Immigrants it can take considerably longer, sometimes around twenty
five years and sometimes it just never happens, so best move on. The question is
why do I say this? The answer has as much to do with arrangements in the limbic
system as it has to do with the flowers and thorns of discipline and thinking.
But I will say this, an Accidental Immigrant knows he belongs when he can think
of a place irrationally. Call it love if you have to get sloppy. And tomorrow is
the 5th of May, or should it be May 5th for me.