I have just counted them, all the houses, apartments and condominiums I’ve ever lived in. Twenty-two. I suspect I’ve forgotten a few. On three continents, or even four, if I count moving from the East Coast to the West Coast of the US as another continental move. Some moves happened to me as a child, so I didn’t move, I was moved. But from then on, I can now say, many of my moves were about either searching for an unknown something, hoping a change of scenery would bring it on, or running away from whatever.
Sometimes there were reasons life invented: children’s schools, ex-husband’s physical limitations, career moves. Almost eight years ago, I moved to a mountain cottage in the hills of the San Francisco Bay Area. I felt I'd finally found Home. Actually, the deep gut feeling of Home came gradually. I felt very safe and comfortable right away, though. The very tall Monterey pines, the redwoods, the gardens, the fireplaces, the hammock, the tranquility, privacy and solitude hugged me.
Being able to meditate naked in the sunny garden, or fall asleep by the outdoor fireplace counting the stars was glorious. But the absolute falling in love with it, the totality of an open heart, the deep-rooted connection to a piece of property for the first time in my life, took its time. But then, one day, I felt as if I’d lived there my entire life. This was the family home I'd never had, a wonderful place to gather and create memories with family, lovers and friends. H O M E.
Then suddenly, about a year ago, thoughts began popping up: “It’s time to move again ...” I was distressed, surprised, shocked, bewildered.
I fought these nagging thoughts, denied them, and pushed them downs as deep and as far as I could, but they kept coming back. One day, I decided to pay attention, to listen to the voice, to tap into the feelings, hoping to find the reason behind them. Through fear and anxiety, the answer came gradually and in layers.
At the end of this process, I found something wonderfully surprising.
First I heard: “It’s time to simplify, to downsize.” Leaking roof, wobbly path, clogged watering systems, growing lawns, trying to seduce a plumber to come urgently after hours - it was time for a break.
"But what about H O M E?", I asked. How could I even consider leaving this nest I'd finally found?!
And then the deep, true answer arose. While this fabulous place was home, it was also a good parent grooming me, allowing me, nurturing me, and loving me to finding home within. It was finally time to move for the perfectly sane reason of taking care of myself.
Bonnie Rait is quoted as saying: “It took me forever but I’m right on time”.
I’m turning 60 this coming Sunday. It seems to me I found home right on time.