Home is here. Or there.

I’ve been loosening my grip on my sense of place – my need for place, rather. I’m trying to rewrite my sense of security tied to concrete location with a sense of security in just being.

I’ve unloaded about 10 bags and boxes of stuff’ the past few weeks…some passed along to those would give it a second wind, the rest turned over to the thrifts. It felt amazing. I’ve done this many times before, but this time around it’s different.

I recently watched a stranger carry away the pieces of the crib both my babies slept in. The man will repurpose it into a fancy dog kennel, he tells me. I never even shed one tear or sensed a flitter of doubt in my gut. I held on to the crib for years – 4 past when it was last used, moving it around the basement when I needed room. Was I holding out for the third I felt still held a space inside me? Was I hoping its presence would help keep my babes small and life steady? Truth is I just wasn’t ready to face the reality of more heavy change. I’ve lost things; snatched right out from under me, not seeing confiscation coming. Except they weren’t things at all: marriage, family, identity, dreams, and loved ones. Maybe I felt that crib helped hold precious memories like it once held sleepy bodies.

In my dreams, I win just enough lottery (that I don’t even play) to afford me the opportunity to stray with my babes for a year – just one year to start – to learn through living. I figure I’ve made at least one friend in nearly every state. We would roll along with Poppy region-by-region, homeschooling, gathering with friends in sweet reunion or meeting for the first time. I would squeeze them hard upon greeting. Like the kind of hug that exchanges your energy, downloads your essence and backstory. I would beg them to tell me anything and everything they know. I would ask them to share their stories – the celebrations and scars – and what makes them feel alive. We would share meals, their favorite dishes. They’d show us their days and the land they dwell. We would stay up late contemplating why we’re here some nights, and rise early to watch the dazzling rays crawl over the mountains other days (because we are SO heading to the mountains). We would laugh until breathless.

We’d take very little with us, just enough to cover the seasons and capture our days.

We wouldn’t need more because what we see and feel and learn is inside of us and not held in the material. Except for rocks; we’ll collect lots of rocks.

One day in the future, out of necessity, I will say goodbye to the home that sheltered me while I raised my little family. Going at it alone, I have no idea what that will look or feel like. Three and a half years ago, I would block that thought out completely in an effort of self-preservation. One year ago, I would try it on for size just often enough to absorb its weight. Today I’m beginning to feel possibility in this wild unknown – dare I say an adventure; a challenge that I know we can steer. We will land where we’re meant to. We will make it home. Time and time again, I’ve been shown what matters, barely catching the awkward heap it arrives as, thrown without warning, and I’ve worked hard to adopt those lessons as a way of life. It would be a waste to stop here.

Being shown big life can cause us to grip our belongings tighter, desperate to hold things where they are familiar – in the NOW. It can also offer a tap on the shoulder – “Psssssst….THIS is life and not a bit of it lives in objects or addresses. Free yourself. “ Listen for the latter.

When I leave this house my babes will still be my babes, the sun will still rise and set, our friendships will carry forward, and memories and moments travel with us. I will remind myself this a great many times, because, in moments, I’ll forget.

Layers continue to shed from me. I invite the unfamiliar sensation of them melting off slowly revealing a new peace, rather than harshly cracking off as I’d grown accustomed to in the recent past. Is this because the lessons are less intense or abrupt? Not one bit. Is it that I’m flowing with them better? I hope so. I’m openly accepting the messages returning to me in waves from all that I’m placing out in the world – the prayers, the vibes, the questions, the intentions. I’m trusting more. I’m getting it. Something significant has settled over me and it’s welcome.

Oh, hello there, please stay.

I can’t describe how beautiful this crazy mess feels at times.