I’ve lived in this house for several years now. And ever since I moved in here with the hubster, I’ve been telling myself that in a few years we’re going to buy that huge piece of land somewhere, and THAT will be our true home, and we’ll settle in and live the life we want.
But just before I found out about my father’s heart attack, I was meditating on the little hill behind my house, and connected with the spirit of the land I live on. And I could feel the sorrow of a place that no one calls home, a place that is asked to produce food and medicine but is not given love or commitment in exchange for what is asked of it. And I became aware, too, of how I was limiting myself, always thinking of my home as a stepping stone to my real life. Always sitting on the surface, because “this isn’t my real home”, and so never putting down roots. No wonder I struggled so hard to be grounded.
I decided, then, that I would allow myself to love this place. I would stop thinking of moving on, I would put down roots, and finally, for the first time ever, be home.
The hubster and I talked about our plans for more land, about how uncertain those plans were for us, and about how we don’t do many things we want because “we’ll only be here for a few years”. We didn’t really make any big decisions, other than to agree that we would be here now. Be present in our current reality, and let the future lie.
Of course, there was immediate upheaval with my father’s hospitalization and death, a trip to Michigan to mourn with my family. But upon our return I felt home settle around me and it was so comforting, so GOOD.
During this process a dear friend came to stay in her motor home on our property, and she and I have started taking walks up our little gravel road, just to the end and back, almost every day.
We’ve picked berries at the edge of the woods and trespassed on an abandoned piece of property to visit with some Elderberry bushes.
I’m finally seeing what a beautiful place I live in. And it only took six years!
It’s so good to be home.