Far From Home

I never thought I would actually do this, but here I am, on a cargo ship going who knows where. The soft, pulsing hum of the engine permeates the room as I sit quietly on the cold, metallic floor. I turn and see the Earth, glowing bright and blue against the infinite inky black nothing of the void, gradually get smaller. I lift myself and amble up next to the window, where I plant myself. Next to me stands a potted plant, its arms reaching out to the window as if it, too, is saying goodbye to its home for the last time.

They say that fate works in funny ways -- one day you're eating a tuna sandwich in your human's apartment safe and sound on Earth, the next you're leaving everything you've ever known to risk your tail on some distant world in a forgotten corner of the Universe because you've always known that there was never anything for you back home -- if you could even call it that. Though the plant and I find ourselves in the same place, there is one fundamental aspect that separates myself from the plant: I decided. I made the conscious decision to leave because I wanted more out of my life, and though my future is uncertain, I can rest knowing that whatever happens now was because I chose my own path, just as everyone has the power to do so. Each of us is the master of our own destinies. Each of us knows best what will make us happy. Each of us has the ability to make life a wonderful adventure, where we can all be happy and set ourselves free of that which constrains us because each of us has a life that is unique to any other, a life with stories worth telling and experiences worth having, lives that need not -- SHOULD not -- be wasted with complacency and contentment.

As I sit, I wonder if my new home -- if I find one -- will be better than my last.

I decide to leave that as a question that only time can answer. For now, I permit the thrum of the engine to carry me to my dreams, and go to sleep.