Last year I experienced a lot of thoughts about belonging, roots and the concept of home, which was evident in my articles as well. I felt like I need to go back to where I started, as if I had lost the idea of what home is at all.
In contrast, as a teenager I had everything that would keep a person back and call a home – a big family, an apartment with all of my memories, belongings and priceless friendships.
Yet, the only thing I ever wanted was to leave. To go, travel and be free. Not because I did not love it, I did, with all my heart. Nonetheless, I never felt like it is my fate to stay. It was just not me. There was always something out there, unknown, calling my name and I was ready for the adventure of finding it. It did not matter if it meant never coming back. This was the only thing my heart desired.
Feels like it really was my fate, as just before I left everything my concept of “home” consisted of, started falling apart piece by piece. Everything that was supposed to keep my roots attached was breaking off, much like chains no longer keeping me down. It was bittersweet, but now the adventure was the only thing left.
Two years forward to 2018, when the last of my roots were rotting, I felt this sudden loss, this loneliness. Everyone around me had kept the roots. They had something to come back to and I was somehow rootless… homeless. I had nothing, but the way ahead. When looking around me, it did not feel so fulfilling anymore.
This is, my reader, what makes people unhappy – comparison.
For months and months, I felt the need to go back. As if there was a box in this old, dusty apartment, where I was to find myself or the answer to my search.
And then, finally, after all this struggle of the heart, I was on the plane. Final destination – “home”.
It felt nostalgic to walk the old paths, meet the same people and even sleep in the same bed. However, it just did not give me the same warm feeling of love, just a familiarity. “Home” was what it was just until those final moments before I stepped out and time could never be taken back.
Returning did not heal my heart. It did not restore my concept of home, neither did it take the time back. Still, it did answer my questions. It did help me find myself again.
Turns out, some people are not made to have roots. For them there is no such constant concept as “home”, much like there is for others. Not everyone can be bound to the ground. And quite frankly, this is okay.
It was not my lack of roots that made me unhappy. No, it was my belief that I am lacking something I don’t even want. Something I have long mourned and moved away from. And why? Because that is what other people had and what other people wanted.
But this is not me.
There is a freedom of having no roots, but there is a responsibility as well – to explore and experience. To let the world be your home.
So, here I am again, ready to let it all go and awaiting my next destination.
Sometimes, we have just ourselves and the fate of a nomad.