Travel can be an exciting undertaking, especially if you have an adventurous spirit.
Although the rush of experiencing new lands has always delighted me – all those intoxicating new vistas, scents, and sounds – I’ve never derived much pleasure from the nitty-gritty of moving my body from one location to another. Backpacks, airports, cramped plane seats, and questionable bathrooms; oh my goodness! Yep, I’m the first to admit it. At my core I’m a homebody.
Yet here I am living in America, still slightly dazed that my beloved place of birth is ten thousand miles away and has been for over two decades.
My early years in the States were plagued by aching homesickness, an unrelenting longing to be back in Australia. Despite having become enamored with the stunning beauty of New York’s Adirondacks, I continued to miss everything about the sunny land I grew up in. With half a world between where I was and where I wished to be, I battled the constant background buzz of unresolved longing.
Where is my true home, then? Is it the place of my birth? The suburb I grew up in? Or is it my current house in the States where a kitty litter box is one of my big responsibilities?
Immigrating from one hemisphere to another inevitably stimulates such questions. And when pondered deeply and answered truthfully, they all lead to one inescapable conclusion. Rather than a location or a structure, home is, and always has been, the state of one’s heart and mind.
It helps to remember that wherever we find ourselves in life, the place we currently label home is only a brief rest stop on a long cosmic journey back to our soul’s true home. And discovering the trick of how to be at home wherever we might be grants a most precious gift; abiding peace.