There’s no place like Home.
The journey Home. The journey to my new Home. Starting from the inside out.
I’m feeling a bit like a tired Dorothy, and I think a sequin or two may have been scuffed off my sparkly red shoes as I move through this journey.
I’ve had moments, precious moments, of feeling that loving hand on my back, guiding me forward. And I’ve had moments of thinking my head was going to explode from stress. And a lot of back and forth with all of that.
Lucky for me it’s not my first rodeo, and lucky for me I have a pretty strong appreciation for what keeps me safe and sane as I move through life and everything that comes my way. Including having to find a new home.
Putting my business on the back burner which feels awful. Except for a few livestreams each week, and a very small time on social media, my focus, my bandwidth, all I’ve got has gone (is still going!) to this search. And thank you for hanging in with me. I spoke to a client today and apologized for slowing down the pace of her rebrand. She was incredibly gracious.
The funny thing?
The funny thing is that I’m doing my best work. It seems like whatever layers of pretense and anything else that gets in the way of my intuition and compassion are gone now. So hey, if you have a transition or two that you’d like to walk through like a badass queen, schedule a no-strings session with me. Whether or not we work together now or later or never, I promise you, you’ll get a ton of useful resources, ideas, and strength from our hour looking at what’s up for you together.
I finally broke down and made a spreadsheet this morning because I reached the point where I can no longer remember the who, what, where of all these possible places to live in my head.
Home. For me Home includes places for my habits.
My habits and my tools. My kombucha supplies. My art supplies. My knitting stuff. My collection of small mermaid statues and sculptures.
Fiona Apple put it perfectly: “Home is where my habits have a habitat.”
I have looked at places starting at — I swear — 250 sq ft. I think my current closet is almost that size. I’ve been thinking I may have to give away/sell everything. And I still might!
The ache for Home.
I appreciate rootedness. I know that my tender nervous system does best when I have a sense of being planted. Of knowing where my things are. Of being able to find and use my cherished tools without (please Goddess) having to root through bins in a storage unit. Besides, paying rent for a big box to hold my things feels wildly inappropriate and out of balance and unsustainable to me.
But I also know how to thrive where I’m planted, and I know that as long as I’m breathing I have the capacity to put down roots, again and again.
I am approaching a tipping point when it comes to decision time.
I freaking hope I am! I need to know what’s going with me and what must be released so I can get packed. At this writing, I’m choosing between three wildly different scenarios:
- a 350–450 sq foot inlaw unit, with some degree of kitchen/bathroom share in a good neighborhood that I would like to live in (I passed on the 1984 Toyota camper for $875 a month parked in someone’s backyard)
- a 600 sq foot one bedroom in a not-so-great neighborhood a bit more remote than I like
- sharing a big house with a young woman 35 miles from here — a house with features that I like (hardwood, gas stove) and plenty of space; and I did say 35 miles from here, inland, right?
The journey Home.
Sharing this snapshot of where I am right at this moment, in this breath, is incomplete, I know. Trust me when I tell you it’s pretty much all I’ve been doing, looking, freaking out, calming myself, trying to remember to eat (I have never been this thin, but I am not trying to not eat, I’m just distraught). Worrying, writing. Stressing, meditating. Walking, thinking, trying to sleep.
Home starts from the inside. When I can feel my heart, when I can take a full breath, I am at home.
Although I know this to be true, I know that it’s also huge to have a physical Home.
When I think about embracing minimalism, going through all my stuff and having a big “Pay from the heart, take what you need, and help me pay for my move” sale, and winnowing winnowing winnowing, I think of landing up somewhere tiny with a small table and a cracked beautiful bowl on the center of its otherwise empty surface.
Because I have loved this story ever since I heard it. Goes something like this:
The student is freaking out, afraid of what his teacher the monk will say when the student reveals that the monk’s favorite bowl has broken. Finally summoning the courage to confess, the student is amazed that the monk responds by saying “Thank you!” The monk goes on: “Thank you for breaking my cup, now I can stop worrying about how sad I’ll be when it does eventually break.”
Tell me, tell me about your transitions, how you move through. What gives you a sense of home when home is uncertain.
Let’s talk in the comments. Even if I’m slower than usual to reply, reply I will!
Blessings, love, hugs, gratitude!