“Where are you these days?” is always the first question someone asks me when we haven’t spoken in a while. They are usually surprised by the answer too.
I talked to a dear friend last night who was gently shocked to hear that I was back in the mountains of Wyoming for a while. We had a good laugh about it. I am so grateful for the understanding of those whose know me. Those people who get it and know that my curiosity is not manic distraction or fear of commitment. I am fully committed to a life that I love. I am in a lifelong monogamous relationship with awe and wonder. I have never ever wanted to “settle down” in one place. My curiosity wakes me up before the sun in cities where I don’t speak the language and don’t know a single soul. I want to know, see, smell, and taste everything. The entire universe is my home and it wants me to see every part of it.
The greatest gift I have experienced in my adult life is to simply be where my feet are in that very moment.
I have owned a home in New York City for 12 years and I love it the same way that I did that morning when they finally handed me the keys but I wasn’t meant to stay there. Some people look at this as a failure and I have heard my fair share of criticisms about how much I have traveled in the last few years. Words like self-indulgent are used. It usually comes from someone who is afraid to leave their backyard and too busy pointing fingers to reflect on their own happiness. Because the people who are rooted in happiness and love never have a negative comment about it. They get it.
We all gravitate towards what works best and feels best for us at that moment. For some it is roots and for others it is wings. It also shifts throughout our lives. I have definitely gone through rooting phases. This definitely is not one of them. All I know is that from the moment I understood that there was a world bigger than me, I also knew that the world was the size of my passport and easily held within the palms of my hands.
“Home is neither here nor there. Home is within you, or home is nowhere at all.
A longing to wander tears my heart when I hear trees rustling in the wind at evening. If one listens to them silently for a long time, this longing reveals its kernel, its meaning. It is not so much a matter of escaping from one’s suffering, though it may seem to be so. It is a longing for home, for a memory of the mother, for new metaphors for life. It leads home.
Every path leads homeward, every step is birth, every step is death, every grave is mother.”
– Hermann Hesse