Home is where the heart is. It’s a cliché, and it’s true. Now my heart has a tendency to wander, just like my mind does. It is like a stray cat looking for a warm place, a tasty meal, a kind soul. For me, home is not necessarily a fixed place. Far more important, I need to feel at home.
I do love my house, with my stuff, sitting on my couch with my bare feet touching the soft carpet. But even though there’s many things that mean the world to me at home, they won’t keep me there. I’m not familiar with homesickness. If any, it’s in an opposite sense. While in the comforts of home, I miss the adventure that is travelling. Maybe it is because I don’t like routine. Maybe it is because obligations, expectations and daily hassle distract from my usual ‘zen’ travelling mode. Willing or not, one’s expected to join the rat race, life in the fast lane, keeping up with appearances. Apparently it works for many, but not for me.
I travel not to escape life at home, I travel because I choose to be free. So, once again I pack my backpack and take off, wandering, looking for another view, another vibe, another perspective. And without searching as such it happened to me more than a few times to find a place that I really felt at home in.
Maybe it’s not something one can really look for. It just happens. To me – finding such a place – is far more important than four walls and my name on the door. It’s a feeling of coming home, a sense of belonging. You’ll know it once you experienced it yourself.
Have you? Found your home away from home?