I’ve never really made a ‘home’ as an adult because I’ve never felt the need for one. I’m a gypsy traveller moving through the world without a care or desire for stability. What a fucking lie.
Simple enough, it makes sense, Dad has retired and it’s time they sell the big house to settle into something more practical. I was in the middle of Namibia having just returned from a game drive when I heard the news. My heart broke and I felt the sudden urge to cry. This frustrated me beyond measure because A – I don’t cry very often and B – why am I getting all emotional about a home when I’ve never sought one to begin with? I hardly spend time at home but I love those intermittent months where I go back to my old bedroom and childhood home. We built the house when I was 2 years old (fuck, that’s a long time ago) and it’s all I’ve ever known of ‘home’.
Time to take a minute to myself to learn about myself – you know what I’m saying? The craving of instability stemmed from being so stable in the first place. I always had a home to go home to and I’ve never questioned it’s sudden departure because it was THAT stable. So, the next question I had to ask myself… do I want a stable home? Do I need one? Mind fucking blown.
This may seem simple to many but understand that for a traveller to suddenly realize they might need a base is just downright foreign! When you’ve lived like I have for the last decade, you start to think you’ll never ‘settle down’ or find your nest egg. You begin to reassess how you structure your life and you sit in front of a blank drawing board trying to fit the pieces together. You’ve now got two things to consider – your need for stability and your need for freedom.
How can I make this work? How can I enjoy the best of both worlds? You tell me universe – and can you hurry? Well, while the universe deliberates… I’ll just be here – smiling.