The other day I spent some days at the sea. Not any sea – but the place where I was born. I left it behind when my parents divorced and have only returned for holidays since. This time was different, though. When I got there and took my first deep breath, the fresh salty ocean air must have found a secret pathway to a spot deep, deep within me that had been lying dormant for a good three decades. It touched it, ever so gently. And suddenly I knew: I have to go back. I have to go. HOME.
It’s not that this thought has never crossed my mind. Of course, whenever I spent some time there I wondered what it would be like to move back. But it wasn’t a serious contemplation, rather a brief escape from reality, one that demanded that I live where I live because my job is there, my partner, my friends. It was just a mind blob, a fancy idea with no foothold to grab onto.
This time was different, though. There was a part deep within me that responded to a quest, a search for a more meaningful, peaceful life that has kept me busy and a bit restless for the best part of the last three, four years. But if you had asked me just days before I would have told you the same old reasons why I couldn’t possibly go back there. Except, really, would I?
Now that I think about it, things have changed tremendously. I have been questioning my career choice for a while now. My partner is no longer my partner. And my friends? Well, my friends will be friends, no matter where I live. In fact, they might be delighted to visit me in a sought-after holiday destination that is really just a day trip away.
Funnily enough, there was a moment, a very short, very crisp, very clear moment in which I was thinking about nothing else than this. About going back home. I knew, just knew that this was what I have to do. There was a clarity, a certainty that was beyond all doubt and that commanded my undivided attention, even if only for a few seconds. It felt right. Totally right. No questions asked.
Of course it didn’t take long for my always alert, never ceasing to question and analyze mind to kick in and take right back over. How would I afford a home? What would I do to earn a living? How often would I see my friends? Would I miss my current home, the vast culture and food scene, the many possibilities that only a big city can offer? All valid questions.
But the one, the only really important question – I can’t stop thinking since – is: Where do I truly, wholeheartedly feel at home? And it’s right there. At the sea, with sea gulls, sandy white beaches and endlessly patient waves gently rolling on and off the shore.
Interestingly enough, as I write this, I remember my about me page. I created it two years ago when I first started blogging. And it makes me wonder: Could it be possible that we know what we need to know all along and just have to find the courage to face it?
I don’t know. But I feel I might want to find out what happens once I allow this beautiful thought to linger. And to take shape and form. And maybe, just maybe, come about in ways I cannot fathom yet but that might already be there, ready to be discovered.