For a very long time I used to be preoccupied with my past. I wondered a lot about why certain things, family stuff mostly, had happened to me. Why me? Now it’s different. Now I’m telling myself stories about my future, about what I want it to look like. Feels better. Yet I am still lacking something: The ability to find lasting joy in the present moment.
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.