Coming Home to Me

A funny thing has happened over the years as I've moved around, wandered and dreamed longingly for one special structure to call my home.... And I've only just fully realised it in the quiet contemplation of this sunset over a place that very much defined the word for me for so long.

Home isn't a place, it's a feeling.

It's not in a certain postcode or neighbourhood or street. It's in me. And not in I'm-a-crab-and-carry-my-shell-around-with-me kinda way either. It's a knowing that no matter what direction the sun sets in, who bunks with me, what colour my fence is, or if the bank owns the building or not, that I will always be able to come back to me and find home here.

This might not make sense to you yet, but I'm positive it will one day and it will set you free in so many ways.

Whether you're the most travelled and worldy soul you know, or you're an absolute introverted homebody and totally happy being so, if the winds of change shake that up for you, if someone tries to take that away from you, or if mother nature does so... Trust that you have the universe inside of you. And in that vastness is a feeling that hugs you safe and warm, can open to entertain others, and can be the place you get the most rejuvenating rest you've ever had.

So here's to homes - the places, the memories, the people, the faith that have all once felt like it. And to the one true home within us all.

Honour it. Enjoy it.
And come home to YOU 🧡





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