Carry Me

memoirs of a downward facing dog

There’s something so exciting about the fresh pages of a new journal.  All of that blank, empty space.  Pages unmarred by coffee stains or leaky pens or tears.  Events yet unknown.  Emotions yet unfelt.  And yes, I’m old-school like that.  First, I write on paper.

I bought my journal the last time I was visiting my family in Portland, knowing that with just a few pages left in my old notebook, I’d be running out soon.  Fitting actually:  new journal, new chapter.  Perhaps there was a part of me that thought if I bought it in Portland, it might come with a magnetic homing device that would help carry me home.

I am only a fraction of the way into this trip westward.  In fact, too close to Montreal to feel like I’ve even left.  One flick of the steering wheel to the East and within hours I could be right back where I started.  But though this is a westward journey, it is also a time to move forward.  There’s no turning back now.

Home is where I’m going, even though I’ve never lived there before.  Even though there is no history, other than being in the general proximity to where I grew up.

What does that mean, home?  For me, it’s a tricky concept.  If you remember, I was once told by an aura reader in Brazil that I’m disconnected from my roots.  Flighty, ungrounded and living up in my leaves.  In order to get rooted, did I need to psychoanalyze my childhood back to the womb?  Trace my family tree back to loincloths and hair-pulling?  Sit on my coccyx chanting LAM for hours on end??

Already, I’ve stayed in three different homes in not yet nearly a week.  Three homes so comfortable, they could’ve sucked me in for years.  Snippets of life I could so easily insert myself into.  Not to mention, the studios.  We are a chain of hot yoga studios, but to me it feels a little like family.  Each studio so far has made space on their schedules which allowed me to teach; invited me into their communities, their homes and have even washed my stinky clothes, brought me wine and made me smoothies.  I’ve been floored by the generosity, and truthfully, it makes me a little uncomfortable.  Accepting the kindness of strangers is going to be part of the ride…and for someone fiercely independent, a good lesson to learn indeed.

The thing is, we can try to discover ourselves by moving, leaving, starting over or running away.  And I did that.

But home is just here.  In all that I bring and all that I receive.  In all that I am touched by or all I have touched.  In all that I am.  It is the foundation on which I build.  It is the platform on which I stand.  And the generosity and kindness of strangers is the wind on which I sail:

Home.

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2 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. Sam
    Oct 20, 2013 @ 09:47:48

    Reply

  2. Kate
    Oct 22, 2013 @ 14:19:14

    I remember talking to you after your aura reading and I think of our conversation often. Good luck creating your home in Oregon:) beijosxx

    Reply

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