It's All About Coming Home

An answer to an eternal question

I first noticed him while on my way to get coffee one morning. A man who was also out for his morning stroll.

Something was magnetizing about his carriage. He was elegant, wearing a cappuccino-colored suede jacket over jeans. I guessed he was early 60s, had shoulder-length silver hair pulled back into a loose yet neat ponytail, and wore large sunglasses, as he was walking toward the bright, rising sun.

What captivated me was his gait. He had a long, confident stride as he walked with a cane. But the cane wasn’t there to lean on;  it was a prop, a walking companion, a dance partner as he swung it in front of him and struck the sidewalk in a steady rhythm.

A few months later, while in France with friends, I saw a woman who, although quite different, reminded me of that man.

It was a perfect afternoon in Saumur, in the Loire valley. After buying chocolate and strolling the charming cobblestone streets that seemed to meander forever, we stopped for lunch at a sidewalk café.

It was mid-afternoon when she caught my eye about a block away from the café. She was also 60-ish, with a smart chin-length bob and an easy swing to her stride, and her casual, denim shirtdress swayed gently with each step. As she sat at the table next to us, we exchanged greetings.

“Bonjour, Madame.” Her voice was low in timber and strong in expression. She settled back with her espresso and cigarette, lost in her reverie.

I couldn’t take my eyes off of her.

What was it that struck me about this man and this woman?

They were both comfortable in their skin. But, it was more than that. They each had a deep sense of home about them, of personal ownership that preceded and walked alongside them.

What is home?

The meaning of home strikes people differently at different times in their lives. For me, it started as a journey from the outside in.

I've lived in 22 homes during my life. That seems like a lot. Looking back, each home signified a theme and a progression. I remember feeling safe and loved in the family homes in which I grew up, where I never questioned the idea of home, it was simply with family. 

As a young adult, home meant striking out on my own, and being able to make my own decisions about how I lived there. Responsibility was the theme.

The first home I owned, a small bungalow in Royal Oak, Michigan, was a big mark of adulthood, bringing a real sense of independence and ownership for the first time in my life. It was the first time I heard the phrase, "The house has good bones." I called it home and it was glorious to make it my own.

The house I owned with my ex-husband was a new build and we shared all of the decisions as to what went into that house to make it ours. Adventure, conflict, and compromise were rotating themes. It was an adventure for a while until conflict became a chasm and we grew apart. I never felt like I fit in there and I lost myself for a bit. That home represented coupling, a loss of personal ownership, then uncoupling.

Shortly after divorcing I transferred to Los Angeles, rented a fabulous lower-level apartment in a Hollywood Hills home with a wonderful landlord, and then bought a sweet little condo that felt like being a part of something grand, after which I upgraded to a house with a big yard. I loved that house which was filled with so much happiness. Then, something else happened to rock my world.

I got laid off from the corporate job with the corner office. I was in the bubble that millions found themselves in at that time. There I was, without a job and with a big mortgage payment. I blew through savings over the next several months, took on a tenant, and went through all of the processes made available during that time of crisis to try and save my house. The American Dream became a nightmare.

In that house, it began to sink in—deep—that a house is not the home. The house is brick and mortar, with slats and beams. The house didn’t define me or who I was. I sold the house, downsized, and moved on, as my career and life moved on too.

My idea of home started to change. I began some soul-searching spiritual work and the external signals became louder. 

“I need harmony in my home.”

I was in a brief living situation that was difficult and at times combative. I didn't feel at home. I said, “I need harmony in my home.” It started an ongoing conversation between the housemates about what that meant and might look like. That house represented a major shift in my definition of being home.

One morning I woke up to find a spectacular spider web, the most intricate I’d ever seen, outside my door. It was huge, an expansive mansion with its orb weaver posing in the center. When I returned at the end of the day, the web and the spider were gone.

The next morning, the spider built another web in the same spot. Fascinated, I learned this particular spider eats her web after the laborious task of constructing it, only to build it again the next day, and the next, and the next. She was very intentional while building it and also while tearing it down and taking it with her.

It got me thinking about how this wise spider was never homeless because she carried her home with her. Inside of her. It was always with her, even as it was on display for the world to see, she was connected to it, it was a part of her and represented who she was.

Well, that changed my entire perspective. It was empowering.

Home is an inside job.

When I shared living space, whether, with an ex-husband, tenants, or a variety of roommates over the years, I appreciated the lessons of community and relationships. Many of those people I consider some of my greatest teachers.

There’s a reason some axioms are evergreen. They are true.

Home is where the heart is. There’s no place like home.

There’s no searching for home when you have it with you always. The cane-walking man, French woman, and spider taught me that.

Over time, I settled into my sense of home, more contained, more within.

I have good bones. I can make a home here, where true harmony resides.

Rumi said, “Remember, the entrance to the door of the sanctuary is inside you.”

The building and seeking start on the inside. Often we find ourselves searching outside of ourselves, looking for happiness, purpose, and validation, which is why so often we come up empty, constantly searching for something that feels elusive.

So, as I ponder this, an eternal question and its answer are crystallized.

Why am I here?

To come home.

Everything starts and ends there. 

What has become clear, is that to fully live on and in purpose, you must first come home to yourself. When you launch from an inner homeownership, your purpose becomes your way of being. And, when you share with the world in a way that helps and serves others, it’s a beacon that shines from the center of your soul, the hearth and heart of your home. You no longer feel the angst of searching for something outside yourself.

And, it's when you are safe and self-loved in your inner home that you are truly ready to invite someone else in, someone who will reflect his or her sense of home within too. How magical is that?

It takes courage to unlock the door to your inner home. For me, it’s been through deep meditation, prayer, plant medicine work, writing, sharing, and being in community with others who are seeking as well. Curious conversations are illuminating.

What are some keys to unlock your inner home?

Carve out committed quiet time where you’re just being with you. Commit to it every day. Get up earlier than the rest of your household. Or shut everything down an hour before bedtime as the house quiets down for the night.

Meditate to get in touch with your breath and your body. Find a guided mindfulness meditation that will ease you through it. Sometimes, when my mind wanders, I focus silently on this mantra: “I am home.”

On the inhale: “I am.”

On the exhale: “Home.”

It’s incredibly grounding and simple.

Breathwork is powerful to open your energetic pathways and to get in touch with yourself.

Journal to communicate with your inner voice, the homeowner. Your inner voice, your higher wisdom, the God inside of you, is the one that says “Welcome home.” 

The author getting the keys to her current home.

And, hey, I still love and enjoy a beautiful home to live in. I’m a Libra, what can I say? I’m comforted by aesthetics and natural surroundings and enjoy spending time and energy creating my living sanctuary, inside and out.

So, why am I here?

I am here to come home. To transcend basic human struggles by knowing I’ll find most answers inside the wisdom of my own scaffolding, and by integrating that into my daily life.

It’s not the only answer to why I am here. But, to me, everything starts and comes from that sense of home.

What does home mean to you? I’d love to read your thoughts in the comments.

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