I recently met a friend who works abroad and comes back from time to time. He tells me every time when he comes back that he has the feeling of being suspended between two worlds: the one where he works and the one from Romania. One more evolved, in Western Europe, with its advantages and disadvantages, and the other where everything is stagnant (or goes backwards sometimes) in many ways.
I believe that a lot of us feel suspended in between worlds just like him. It can be the world from our office, from home, the street world, friends, the entourage that we are part of, the knowledge of where we leave when we go to other countries.
I do not know about others but this sensation of being stuck in a parallel universe has been part of all my life. Maybe it comes from a certain dose of inadequacy; a certain need for a permanent search for something else, caused by an inner restlessness – when it seems I am finally grounded, something needs to change.
I like being between worlds, as it seems to me that I am in multiple worlds at once, without the need to belong to one; and the switch between these worlds enriches me.
One of the places where I feel well is on the plane. It is like being between or above the worlds; you can watch your worlds from above, analyze them, try to understand them, and try to adapt a little bit better.
I think that, after all, our world is where we are (here, there, beyond, somewhere else). Or do I have nomadic roots?