A Little Ramble on Coming Home.

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Its November, and I’m moving into the 5th place I’ve lived this year. I’m down to two car loads of belongings, just a few boxes that hold a couple shirts, a tattered cookbook, my boating gear, and my plastic three-drawer “kitchen”.
This house will probably be the last place I move into for a while. The next time I move it will probably be back to the Nantahala Gorge.
Right now I’m lucky because I have my dog and a kitchen. I also have my own bathroom and a full bed.
Being a nomad is fun but a lot of work. Being a nomad is teaching me a lot about coming home.
Home isn’t a house with a yard and a garage, a mortgage payment, or a basement full of storage. Home isn’t coming back to the same street in the same town everynight for years.
Home is the front seat of my car on warm afternoons, driving back from a day spent kayaking with my friends. Home is the middle seat of my car, where my dog spends approximately half his life but loves it because he gets to be with me. Home is the trunk of my car, where I can fit my entire life and someone else’s if need be.
Home was my staff housing room this summer, with a girl who taught me everything I need to know about trusting my dreams and passions. Home is the tiny kitchen I shared with 30 others, laughing long into the night over wine and board games.
Home is the house I share with an artist in Asheville. Its coming home each day and getting to see the progress she’s making on the silver jewelry she taught herself to make.
Home is my mother’s house, where she always has food I can eat and is ready to do my laundry and give me a bed for the night, usually with a mere 1 hour warning.
Home is my friend’s camper trailer, up on a mountain. Its rickety and cold, but we curl up in blankets and listen to Eddie Vedder in the mornings, watching the sun light the leaves on fire and sipping hot tea while we talk about life. He teaches me so much about letting go.
Home is knowing that its ok for you to not be traditional, its ok for you to have struggles staying anywhere for any length of time. Home is wherever you are at that moment. Its knowing yourself so well and being so ok with yourself, that you are at home wherever you go. Home is the yoga studio, the grocery store, its next to your lover, your dog, your friends. Home is in the sound of laughter at the bottom of a challenging rapid you just crushed. Home is the relief of hot water on sore muscles. Home is packing up your car every Friday and venturing off for a few days because that’s what makes your world make sense.

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