Making yourself at home

As October rolls into November, the year turns its sleepy head and nestles into its slumber. The days in the city are warm, I spend them bike-riding and walking and climbing. I sleep late, I savor the delicious comfort of bed after waking and ride that blissful wave into the shore of the day. Morning sits and yoga in the backyard; fried egg with avocado or nut butter with banana on toast, coffee blended with coconut oil and cinnamon. The backyard is my nest and I watch as the morning meanders into day.

I leave in less than a week; excitement sits alongside anxiety, peace alongside restlessness. There is a pressure lingering to milk these last days for all they got, and a desire to let them float on by, each moment a trickle in the gentle stream of being.

I think of what it means to be home, to make a space a home, to find and return home with oneself and with others. The homes I've found, made, and returned to this year - in Joshua Tree, South Africa, Tawonga, within, with significant others and loved ones - they are sanctuaries of comfort, peace, and wholeness. In each I feel safe, on a deep level, safe to turn inward, safe to turn outward, safe to breath fully and unwind and lower my shields. In these spaces I feel lifted up, supported, help - by the Earth, the environment, by self-love and acceptance, by the care of loved ones.

What does it take to find a home, to make oneself at home? From my experience and exploration I've found that for myself, it takes ritual: growing roots through specific acts and spaces that feel special. Morning sits in the early sun, tea or coffee with a journal in a quiet space, walks and meals shared with oneself or with a friend. It takes connection with others, reciprocation of love and support: I see you and you see me. It takes feeling and knowing that you are safe here, that you are accepted, and that happens subtly and gradually as the separation dissolves and the connection emerges.

It takes time, it takes patience. The water may be terribly cold, painful and unpleasant, and you may doubt your place here. And then, without realizing when exactly, the water isn't so bad, you can move and swim comfortably, invigorating even, energizing and freeing. Exhilarating and joyful. And you glance back at those early moments and smile with love because that was not unfamiliar, and neither is this.

Today I am grateful for the journey thus far; the homes I have found and made and return to; for the deeply loving and caring people in my life; and for the home within, always available and welcoming and warm, of self-love and compassion and acceptance.