I’ve been traveling the world, changing careers, making new friends, and learning more than I even knew existed. I’ve grown tired of libraries, and even seeing new things in person fails to impress me at times.
I couldn’t even tell you what I was looking for once I started. At one point, I might have said, the place where I belong, but then I found a place where I decidedly didn’t quite belong that I felt extraordinarily happy in, for a time- Paris, where I am now. And where I now feel longings for home more powerful than any I’ve ever known. Up until now, I never really felt homesick.
I’ve come to realize we’re all one and the same.
And yet we’re different. And we are pushed to discover new, more, and better. Sometimes one of those elements more so than the others.
People all over the world are the same, all human beings, yet incredibly diferent. We might all live the same human story, with a few variations, yet experience it differently- and yet, don’t we all feel those same basic emotions? Don’t we all yearn for a tender touch, a passionate kiss, the feeling of love and approval from those who surround us? And don’t we all feel wonder- in front of the pyramids, a rainstorm, a new baby?
My journey is not yet over.
I realize that those of us who go to faraway lands to live and work and love often don’t feel appreciated where we came from. Perhaps those who are best adjusted stay where they are because they don’t feel the need of anything else. Or maybe we’re just curious.
Maybe we are just prophets in our native lands.
And maybe wanderlust is just the surface symptom of deeper hungers.
Like Bono, still haven’t found what I”m looking for might be a sign of looking for God.
And yet, sometimes it’s just a chronic dissatisfaction, a belief that the grace is always greener and a particularly subtle form of perfectionism.
But now, I want to go home. I want some of the comforts of domesticity- even if I don’t necessarily want to stay in the U.S. forever. Home is a person, and people, and I won’t deny that I have more than a sneaking suspicion that special someone might be where I left them.
Because though my voyages have changed me, at the core, they’ve only made me more of who I am.
Like alcohol, or any intoxicant. Like sex or any other form of honesty or ecstasy.And n
I don’t really change to fit my surroundings, though I do adapt. That’s just kind of how I am.
And finally, I accept these things about myself. And I accept the world as it is- perfect in its imperfection. And I accept all the yearning and the striving and even the quiet contentment that comes from living from the heart.
If it weren’t for my upcoming adventures, there are many times I wouldn’t have found the words, or the courage, or the resolve, to hold someone just a little closer, and have the infinite blessing of knowing I would miss them.
And now, all I want to do sometimes is go home. Even though I am happy to be here, where I am now. Even though I know it’s not home, even though to an extent it is becoming home and a part of my heart will always be here. Because it isn’t quite all or nothing, but the farther I’ve gone and the more I’ve travelled within myself, the clearer the picture of home has become.
And it’s not here.
And finally I know it was what I was searching for all along, even though it was literally the ground beneath my feet before I set off.
But it wasn’t the right place and the right time.
The odyssey continues. And I persist. Home is calling, home is coming, and I know that I will find my hero’s welcome.
In my own heart.
And home is right here, inside me, right next to my happiness, and yet–
Had to cross an ocean and go through many obstacles to find my treasure- the treasure of my next adventure, the treasure of learning to live life as an adventure.
Thankfully, I know that even when I come home, the story won’t end.
It will be just beginning.