Recently I found myself chatting to friends about the concept of 'home', and what it means to each of us. There are so many concepts attached to it. Is it the place you were born? The place your ancestors dwelled? The land whose energy seems to support your own? The house you built? The place where your things are? The land you've worked? Wherever you are at the time?
I've often joked that wherever I lay my
But it's not really a joke, not completely. I am nomadic. I've lived in three countries (not for work or other sensible reasons), and show no signs of leaving it there. I'm the sort of person that when travelling, suggests we head back home, referring to the current hotel. Right now, my books lay in Montenegro.
Bedouin tent. Credit: Shutterstock
On the plane, looking down at the English coastline, I got an overwhelming feeling of 'coming home'. Unexpected. I found it confusing, and yet, not. You know?
My time in England, almost 13 years, gave me so much. I am a creature of nature, and so my connection to the Land was fierce and intimate. Cornwall seemed to have the most supportive energy for me. But there is also an overlaying energetic noise there, of historical happenings, that is too loud for me.
Our 3 weeks there were tough. The Wildflower had a great three days and then began to feel the overstimulation. Then she began to ask for her familiar things. Then she was subjected to 6 days of NOISE, and then she had a weird 24hr illness, and she hated her new formula, she was having 3-4 tantrums a day, and then she caught a cold, and then I did, and then the flight back was during her nap time and it was TOUGH...... sigh.....
Despite how difficult it has been having a velcro baby, we have a very stong bond, that for her has meant a strong physical bond as well. In such an upheaval as our trip, I was her anchor..... her home. I'm grateful that I was able to provide such a secure sense of stability for her.
On arriving home, my heart was squeezed tight when I saw a smile slowly spread across her face as she looked down on her Bumbo (child seat thing). I could sense her gentle happiness. This item was a beloved and more importantly, a familiar thing. The next morning when she woke, she looked up at a picture on the wall, with a similar smile. She was home.
I had also felt that I was arriving home. I wondered if it was simply because this is where my books lay. Where I had set up camp... for now. I know that part of the feeling was having my personal space back. Bounderies.
I have yet to find the home of my heart, of my soul. Not sure if it's important really. I know that it matters to live somewhere where I feel supported by my environment though. For me that includes mountains and water.
For some people, home nurturing comes from the simple tangible things - the wood stove, the baking pans, the garden.... for others it's wherever family is... for others it's a connection to the Land.......
What do we mean by home? The safest place, the place that supports us, the place we feel most ourselves, where we are most comfortable, where you'll sleep? What else?
If you're not in your heart home right now, how strongly do you feel the disconnection?
I think of myself as a citizen of the world, and perhaps I'll always roam, and be happy to do so. Or perhaps there's a Place out there that calls me still, and even explains my itchy feet. Having a child means I need to consider her ideas of home too.
Are you at home?
Ahhh... that felt good, it's great to back here, chatting, connecting....