Home, Period

It took me the entire month of June to write this post, and by the final word, I hated it. Hated its rawness, its messiness, its uncertainty. I wanted to have all the answers and, admittedly, did not. But by the time I realized it, I had been staring at my own BS for the better part of an hour, and there was nowhere to go but up.

Beginning again.

This is the fifth month in a row that I have sat down to write a blog post about home.

We started here, with a bit of history, making the observation that perhaps the only home we truly have is found within.

I read Pat of Silver Bush and Mistress Pat in April, which inspired this tirade about change. Keeping in line with the voice of my soul, I posed the question: Is home located in every time and place where love is welcome?

In May, I peeled back another layer to find that we might not have just one home. Perhaps home is simply being with the people we love—ourselves included.

This month, I’m here to reiterate that yes, the safest and best place to find our answers is within. And no, we cannot build homes without love. Whether we speak of houses with four walls or people with four limbs, without love, what’s the point?

To be honest, I don’t love Kansas.

But that’s where I am right now. On I-70. Headed straight east.

Hot & Crowded

When I returned from Austin in May, I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I did not want to live there. It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy the trip. In fact, I had a few of the most fulfilling days of my life there, and I’m excited to go back. But as a home? Austin’s big city streets and oppressive heat were never going to appeal to me.

And that’s okay.

Knowing where I did not want to be stoked the fire in my gut, the one that simply had to discover a place where I feel free, satisfied, joyful, and at peace.

“Home.”

My intention—as many of my loved ones move away—was to stay in Colorado. I grew up there. I know those streets, my people, the Rockies, and that altitude. When friends visit from out of state, I know what to tell them about drinking water, applying chapstick, and avoiding traffic. I’ve been there so long that Garden of the Gods seems to have shrunk as I’ve grown taller.

My heart is there.

But is that the same as feeling free? Is it the same as joy?

I didn’t know, so I decided to reach out to my Colorado contacts in search of a roommate—just to see what would happen. It felt like a last resort. If I couldn’t find a roommate in the state, I knew I would end up in Austin with family, and for reasons I couldn’t name, that felt like a concession. Why, under the blanket of a benevolent Universe, could I not live in a place I love, with people I love?

Did I really have to choose one or the other?

Me & All My Stuff

As DMs rolled in and my Praxis Slack thread grew longer and longer, I found myself feeling supported and grateful. But as for potential roommates in Colorado? No one seemed to have any viable suggestions, and living alone or with total strangers was unappealing.

Then, out of the blue, a friend commented on my Slack post:

“option 3! move to PA and live with me!”

To which I replied:

“I’m just gonna show up on July 1 with everything I own.”

“i wouldn’t have offered if i wasn’t serious,” she said.

And that’s how I wound up making a trip out to Pennsylvania in early June. I’ve spent a lot of time there visiting my grandparents, so it felt both familiar and fresh. To my surprise, I was overcome by a sense of safety—one I did not expect to feel outside of Colorado.

It’s hard to describe what came next. I flew home (huh) with the knowledge that I would be moving across the country in July. But I couldn’t quite explain why. I was simply excited to live with friends and grateful to have made a decision that felt grounded.

Ultimately, there wasn’t much time for overthinking. My best friend got married a week later, and I poured my heart into the celebration of her love. During the last song, she grabbed my hand and made me salsa dance while the photographer snapped what will surely be my new favorite pictures of us. As the music wound down, I yelled over the noise, “I’m going to put some stuff in your car!” And that’s the last thing I said to her before she moved to Boston.

It hit me as she and her husband drove away that everything is changing all at once. By the time I got in my car, I was crying so hard that the photographer had me roll down my window so she could pass me a stack of Jimmy John’s napkins to blow my nose.

By 10pm, I was dancing around a local Safeway with a friend from Austin—fine as fine could be.

It finally caught up with me two days later. My body (and brain) were exhausted and stressed (Did I mention I hadn’t started packing yet?) and kept me in bed for days. I felt fragile, which I hate.

To everyone who walked with me through the end of June—thank you, thank you, thank you. Your support, assistance, guidance, and grace mean everything to me. I felt your prayers and positivity in moments when I did not think I could move forward.

I still don’t know how all that packing got done, but it did, and here we are—in Kansas.

Rain & Shine

All I know is that, one year ago, I decided to change. Change my body, change my mental state, change my heart. And contrary to past experiences, I wasn’t attempting this from a place of self-hate. For the first time in my life, I was choosing myself in love.

It takes just one hand to count the number of things that have been of great importance to me during this period. My family and friends are one of them. My health is another. And while I was finding purpose in grounding myself in the present, I took note of where I was standing.

Throughout my life, I have identified as being “from the northeast.” Because it’s true. But it wasn’t until recently that I realized—I didn’t grow up there.

At coffee with a friend on Saturday, she said, “Colorado is your home.” Just like that. Not a second thought. I forget sometimes that it’s not normal to psychoanalyze this topic, and I just loved how easy that was for her and how I believed it.

I believed I had a home.

There’s a reason I sobbed just looking at Pikes Peak today. Sometimes, the definition of home isn’t a thing that needs to be psychoanalyzed.

It’s just… the place where you live. The place where you made friends. The rooms where wisdom was passed down to you. It’s where you learned lessons, both affirming and challenging. Where you met yourself for the first time. I made memories with my family there; got a puppy there; carried my dancer dreams to completion there; finished my first novel while sitting on my bed, in my room, there.

How much trust I’ve cultivated under that always-blue sky. Comfort and safety and yes, freedom and joy. A knowing that no matter what, I am not alone.

I thought of all these things as I stood on my deck in the rain. The sun was shining through the droplets.

That’s a very Colorado thing.

Go & Do

So… why TF am I doing this—really? And for the fourth time?!

My TUT calendar has this to say about July:

Don’t be afraid to go where you’ve never gone and do what you’ve never done, because both are necessary to have what you’ve never had and be who you’ve never been.

I was shocked when I read this because—it’s exactly why I’m going. Even though I have spent most of my life searching for home and finally—freaking finally—found it. Even though I am slowly falling in love with who I am—even when I feel weak. I recognize that if I don’t do this, I will spend my entire life wondering if I’m capable of adapting and grounding and living independently.

Going. It’s funny to think I wrote a book about this, without having done it myself. I thought I had, but it feels different now. Maybe that’s another reason why I feel the need to try this.

But now that I’ve made it home (AH), I will not settle for less. As a business owner, I measure my life in quarters. If Q4 rolls around and I’m not feeling it, I will start planning—slowly and gently—my return to Colorado.

And who knows? Maybe there is more than one location out there that feels like home to me.

So I will enjoy this. However long it lasts, whatever challenges arise. This will be a summer I never forget—period. And there’s something comforting about that, too.

Colorado Springs

I freaking love you. No matter how you slice it, I will be back soon.

Notes

You are not weak for wanting to stay.
You are not selfish for wanting to go.
You are not crazy for somehow desiring both.

May you be happy.
May you be well.
May you be at peace.

May you know the voice of your soul when it whispers, You are home.

Update

I am posting this from my new apartment since I could not get it to upload on the road. My body and brain and heart are tired—but I am so proud. Who knows what tomorrow will bring?