After four months on the road, this week I find myself longing for home. It seems a lifetime ago that Mary and I began the self-evaluation that led to our decision to follow The Dirtbag Way, but it was only a little more than a year ago that we signed the papers and walked away from the house that had sheltered us for the past 10 years. I can honestly say I don’t often think of that building where we spent so much of our life, or the investments in time, energy, and financial resources that were required to update and maintain it. I don’t miss the place called home, I miss the feeling of it.
The home I seek is not a physical location. It is a state of being, a sense of settledness I can depend on no matter where I am. Freedom arises when home becomes not a place but a feeling. Home can be anywhere. In fleeting moments I have felt this in my life. My time on the mountain in Costa Rica was one of them.
Though I don’t plan on buying a house or renting an apartment again anytime soon, I will continue looking for home. I know that I can find home in a warm cup of coffee enjoyed while watching the sun rise over the desert, in the sound of a wave rolling up on the beach, or in the feel of my feet touching the ground on a mountain trail. Home is wherever I am if only I can learn to pay enough attention to notice.
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