In the process of cleaning up folders on my laptop and backing up, I came across this piece I wrote years ago. It’s not something I ever intended to publish, as it was more a reflection of and for myself. I never anticipated its poignancy now….
A Homecoming
If you’ve had even the briefest conversation with me during my adult life, you know I adore traveling. My soul has always been restless (and old) and my curiosity generally knows no bounds. Finding personal autonomy these past few years has afforded me the luxury to visit places I could have only imagined in my dreams, and my little science-y heart has been so stimulated at times I thought it would arrest.
Because the word “home” has meant varying and sometimes hollow things over the years – debaucherous apartments occupied in my twenties; a house devoid of communication, filled with broken promises; and for the past couple of years, a cozy (yet often empty) little apartment – I tend to drop after every trip. Coming back to a life I keep running from leaves me restless.
I very recently returned from Ireland and I braced for the drop…but discovered instead that I actually yearned to be home. The trip was lovely, don’t get me wrong, but it’s been a metaphorical eternity since I’ve longed to be right in this place. And it was such an amazing feeling.
After attempting for years to find bits of myself around the world, I’m realizing more and more that I’m not missing any pieces. But I have added ones here that complement and fit me so beautifully – friends that shower me with more love than I think I deserve at times, a community that truly feels like family, and a partner (my evergreen) I love more than I thought possible. And right alongside these pieces has come the freedom and ability to grow, explore, and evolve into someone I think is pretty swell.
Before I left, a dear friend said something that now resonates deeply. “You have roots, but you’re so gorgeous when you fly.” I doubt my yearning to fly will dissipate, but those roots are what will always bring me home. A place I now truly love to be.
Galway, Ireland.
Oof. This was written not long after Jason (my evergreen) and I had met, and that trip is what solidified my love for him and our evolving bond.
Reading this forgotten homage to my person, which in retrospect is truly what it is, was difficult. It stirred up feelings of forgotten comfort I yearn for and forced me to question my post-loss travel in a way I hadn’t anticipated.
Could all the travel be a form of escapism and avoidance? Another way to turn grief into a fading landmark in the rear-view mirror and give little credence to the effect it has on the road ahead?
The answer is a super simple and resounding yes. It absolutely could be. As evidenced in the piece above I have done it and I imagine it is more common than not. How incredibly easy it is to get lost in a different world via travel (or substances, or the gym, or a career) and shove all of that emotional turmoil, both good and bad, down into darkness. To simply just not feel.
But I am refusing to take that route now. It would be doing a disservice to myself, to Jason, and to the sentiment described in the piece above. It’s really what Nomadic Nymph is all about - using all your pieces to engage with the world and not cherry-picking emotional comfort for the sake of yourself or others.
So instead of escaping I bring my home with me and as a result, my grief comes too. Everywhere I go. On every airplane, every road-trip. To every city and every landscape. He’ll see the world with me, through my eyes, and as such, everywhere will feel like home.