Home is…a feeling.
Last night, I was feeling especially cooped up after being on my computer for hours and so I jumped in my Jeep and just went for a drive. Inadvertently, I went for a trip down memory lane as well. When you have lived in and out of this town for as long as I have, I guess it can't be helped. It went something like this, 'Here's where I used to live, where I caught frogs and crayfish and built forts. Here's where my grandmother used to live and where I used to sleep on her couch while she watched Jeapordy after one of her fabulous meals. Here's where I got hit by the semi and was inches from losing my life.' And so on, and so on…
What it made me think of, for other reasons, is that I've never truly felt at home in any given space I was living in. Of course, there were moments where I did. My grandmother always felt like home to me. She always made me very much at ease, but no certain place holds that for me. Maybe that's why I'm so good at traveling. Blame it on my gypsy blood. My grandmother was a gypsy spirit and my biological father….yes, definitely a gypsy. I'm pretty grounded all the gypsy blood considered….but it's still in there.
Where I do feel most at home…is in my yoga studio. Every time I step foot inside of it, I relax a little bit. The history of my feet walking the room, the people that I've spent time with inside of it, the time that I've spent by myself either in asana or in meditation. What a gift, the feeling of home. The feeling that a room can give you that has history and love inside of it. That is what my studio feels like to me. I hope that it feels that way for others, as well. And one day soon, I know it, I will have a home that feels like home. I can't wait. But I am eternally grateful for my studio and the feeling of home it has given.