THIS. Because, this.

Sometimes you have no idea where you belong until you bloody well go off the rails.

While travel itself doesn’t transform, the experiences — if we let them- can land like a delicate bird and begin to sing.

We’d better listen. Because therein lies a whole other, alternative, magical world. Where you belong.

While home is always and forever deep inside you, home is where you feel nourished. Which is why I am hitting the road, and eventually ( assuming I don’t kill myself off in the meantime) buying a place that allows me to see green, hear birds, and pet animals. That is where I am fed. Safe. Nourished.

A whole other question. At what cost do we remain where we are out of fear, perceived comfort, or habit?

Good question. Which is why my house is bedlam as I get ready to hit the road, rent it out eventually and do what puts the bird in my chest. Bravo to you.