… fruit. There was a restaurant that made grilled bread smothered in olives and thin strips of beef. Everyone complained that there was nothing to do while I felt calm, safe. We could navigate the town on foot. We could map its coordinates. In three blocks there was everyth…
Felicia C. Sullivan
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.