I thought about going on a road trip adventure. It would be fun! Explore a new place, meet new people. I even asked several friends for input on where I should go. But then, when it came time to make travel decisions, I didn’t want to leave.
I have been on a hundred thousand miles of adventures over the past 4 years. At times I wanted to run away from my reality, and planning excursions was my constructed way to safely do so. I needed and enjoyed each one. In a sense, every time I gave myself freedom to explore, I was giving myself more space to live.
But this weekend, each suggestion of a new destination gave me less confidence that leaving is what I wanted to do.
Because at this moment of life, I am a quieter, contented, happy person who thought it may be equally nice to stay home .... then as I thought about being home and as the weekend unfolded, I realized staying here was the better option - not because my home is expertly appointed or a destination, but precisely because it’s not.
My home is comfortable, cozy, and clean. It has some cluttered corners and stuff on shelves that really should be donated. I’ve somehow managed to acquire too much furniture. I have pictures of favorite moments and people - some need to be updated or added. It’s the home I created for myself and that I come back to when I’m tired and done with everyone else. I can be happy or sad here without having to explain why. It’s the place that I feel safest and most at peace, and where I am most honest, vulnerable, and open.
I know I’ll run off on some grand adventure in the near future. But for now I’m glad I spent this weekend at home.
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