A time for everything and everything its place

I've blocked myself off from humanity almost entirely.
How many times have I done this? How many times have I said that I've done this? How much does anyone really care anymore?

When I'm closed off from communication for a while, my mind eventually wanders back in time to January 2007 and the thoughts that I had on the ride down to this hell hole- most likely because that was the last time I had a viable thought, one which was virtually a tangible entity hovering alongside the Mountaineer as it barreled down the highway with the U-Haul in tow. And the most prevalent thought of that time period had to do with my then-developing nomadic mindset.
I don't have a home. I have a house here, food and shelter, that enigmatic emotion known as 'love'... There are houses in Massachusetts where I can find food and shelter, perhaps even more obvious marks of that enigma... And I have no doubt that there are houses elsewhere that I could find food, shelter, and even 'love' in one form or another. I'm certain I have more people that I could help, more wrongs that I could right abroad, and I don't believe that my well-being would suffer much given that I'm perfectly capable of living for days and weeks on end with little to no food, am perfectly oblivious to the elements and have a weak grasp on the concepts of time and space.

Do we ever know when we'll get to where we need to be? Do we ever truly find ourselves, or do we rely on the Wheres, the Whens and the Whos to tell us?