You are safe. You are home.
Where is home?
Where do I belong?
Does anywhere feel like home anymore?
I contemplated these pitiful thoughts late into the night from my bed in Germany. These thoughts were keeping me up, and I had an early flight to catch to London first thing in the morning. I had just returned from a month in Africa and had barely a few hours to unpack my “safari” gear to then repack a bag of yoga pants for an English countryside retreat.
The weekend before heading to Africa, I was in the states to see my husband and new home in California. I had signed for this home before seeing it in person. Prior to that continent jump, I was everywhere from the Amalfi coast of Italy to mountaintops in Switzerland to the Black Forest all within that month.
Where does home feel like?
I couldn’t truly answer that. My apartment in Germany is not my home. It breathes with life from the energy I bring to it, but I feel lonely here often. My new house in California is not my home, at least not yet. It is still empty of furniture and does not vibrate with the happiness that my partner and I so magically create together. The barracks rooms, airbnbs, hotels and chalets that have housed me all year are not my home. Yet, they welcome my tired body and soul, giving me the perfect place to relax and reset with every adventure.
Ugh, omg am I homeless?
I snap back from this thought with shame. I am damn near the complete opposite. My travels are some of the most beautiful things in my life. Somewhere amongst these thoughts, I drift off to sleep for a few hours before my alarm reminds me it’s time to go again. I heave my bag over my shoulder and take off for the airport.
I arrive to the The Croft Farm after another day of air, bus, train and taxi travel. I have become quite good at this, but I find myself exhausted from the one of the things I love the most. Travel.
I walk past a field of cows to a beautiful plot of farm homes and treehouse-style structures, drop my bags and am met with a loving embrace by my yoga teachers, Rachael and Melissa. Their presence trigger me into full melt-mode and I burst into tears, happy but most definitely tired tears. I explain, “I am SO happy to be here.”
After two days of laughter, meditation, yoga, clean food, tea, deep sleep, workshops, tears, singing, dancing, fires, rainbows, and cows, I find myself at home.
I feel rooted. I feel loved. I feel SAFE.
I am reminded that sometimes a home is not a place, but a space in our heart that feels nurtured, alive and safe to grow. It is something that we can cultivate alone, but can also thrive in, if supported and encouraged by the loving tenderness of others. We can create a home anywhere we want, but we need to feel safe to do so, or we are only creating a fortress that you must retreat from.