I spent three months last summer living out of a carry-on suitcase and a backpack, spending no more than 10 days at a time in any one place. I’d given up my apartment in Los Angeles, along with most of my belongings, before taking this leave from work. I needed, wanted, feared and craved some time on my own, with everything laid bare—me, myself and I. Less as more; to feel alive.
I expected to feel unsettled throughout this, and I knew that was what I needed. Because in taking everything else away—all the things I had; all the things to do—I needed to find out who I was, and how I felt. I really needed to meet that person and get right with her on the other side. Understand her, challenge her, support her and encourage her to be even more herself.
Halfway through my time, I was on a yoga retreat in Mallorca. It was incredible, yes, and it was also another scene in the theater of life. It topped 100°F most of the trip, and there was no air-conditioning anywhere on the property. One day in particular, I felt like my body and brain were no longer mine and I read that happens to be what happens at 104°F, which it was.
When things get that gnarly, and we were also folding ourselves into shapes we may have never been in before every morning. And as cliché as it is, things started to happen. Tears would spring up in certain poses, and I spent hours lying as close to the floor as possible with my legs up, letting life pass. A willing participant, a passive witness, doing as much as I could and a little more than I wanted, but knew that I needed . I took the group trips out in the afternoon and bathed in the salty Balearic waters that held me up and felt like a hug, and then one day I just needed to hang back, alone.
I went deep in that heat, and the funny thing is, I didn’t even really endeavor to. As with most things we need in life, it just happened. It was just me and my body in that heat, with some other bodies floating and flowing by, in the center of that peaceful island where the insects chirping to a roaring chorus every night, nature’s white noise.
I realized I’ve been looking for Home this whole time in that moment, brought me to it. Without being able to think about, or do much more than be in that immediate moment with myself, everything cleared. I am home. I am my home. I’m in my body; I’m here. Whether I’m together with others or alone, I’m home. I’m sleeping in this bed; next week I’m in a hotel. I don’t know where I’ll live next, and I am living right here, in my body, at home.
I am home.