I turned 35 this year.
Does NOT feel like I am “that” old.
But then again, I’ve never really had much of a concept of time.
Much to the chagrin of my favorite friends:
(((*cue: playful sarcasm “So you’ll be here in 30 minutes? or was that V-Nutes?”))
Really. Some days I feel old and wise and other days like a teenager fresh out of primary school.
Sometimes I wondered if it was because I wasn’t back home in Australia and seeing all the things and stuff that people agree makes them old – like other people around them buying into this whole Time Passing thing.
I could hear them say things like “Yes dear, but that’s what happens when you’re 30, you know?”
Um, no. I don’t actually.
When I was 26 I liked that state so much (body shape, energy, capacity to do everything etc) that I had a wee conversation with my body and said: hey body – would you like to stay 26 for longer? It agreed.
And sure, things are slowly slowly changing, but not a huge shift like I am seeing in a lot of people from home to be honest!
Anyways, if it wasn’t the time thing I thought maybe it was the fact that I never seemed to go back to my growing place.
For the past 15 years I have basically had no “official” home.
Which can be super liberating, but can also come with its fair share of challenges.
Home is where the heart is, no? Heart is where the home is? I dunno.
It’s not that I didn’t have a HOME, I was usually always in places I loved, liked or enjoyed at least – it’s just that I felt I had left Australia to be away from what I considered the normal 1-2-3 status quo: You do this school thing, you marry the guy and buy the house, then you do that other stuff like family or career or both and then something breaks and then you buy the next big thing you want and then you’re stuck paying for these things and don’t go places and start to get a bit scared that you even can and end up wishing you had done such and such and then you tell yourself that you are getting old and start to go into waiting to die mode or something.
For me, that was rather morbid.
I can’t even describe that story properly, that’s how boring it is for me.
But I know the kind of life I have been having isn’t for everyone.
And it definitely comes with its downfalls: like uncertainty and relaxation restrictions and particularly unsupportive scenarios due to not being part of “the system”
I wouldn’t say I am necessarily “nomadic,” nah I’m not that cool – to live here and there and sit on beaches and run my supposed online business from a deck chair with a mojito in my hand. Actually I don’t like packing my bag. Takes me at least a whole day.
I guess I am more like a pseudo-immigrant. I “unpack” for a few years at a time. Sometimes 10.
Thanks to having no concept of time, right?
So my question is: or maybe it’s more of a confession…
Do I need to find a good nest? A nest that gives me freedom? Is that possible?
One thing is pretty much for sure: I have been wanting a home.
A stable bank account. Somewhere I can hang paintings that I love.
And somewhere I can crawl into corners and create with my energy.
Plus what if it could be in some place where I don’t have to go on visa runs every 90 days or get unnecessarily paranoid about re-entry but just go on trips because its part of my lifestyle and just what I do.
A place where all my things are. Not in boxes around the world, stashed in different friends houses or storage from lifetimes before that I haven’t even wanted to look back into after I had set sail from there.
(Side note: Not that I really have a whole bunch of things. I mostly collect animals)
I don’t think it means I am “settling” but more like I am gathering.
Gathering my energy. Gathering myself. Focussing….maybe?
After all, would I keep my energy moving all about if I really felt like I had a home?
And let myself have a home.
I was aware it would likely be in a place I least expected it because although I was kind of getting to choose things in my life, technically I had already made the pledge to the Forces that I would be wherever would best work for the greater mission. So as much as my little rebel soul loved to be able to jump on a plane and hightail out of situations and countries – it was all part of the master plan, baby…yeahhhh
and if I was going to be perfectly honest I did know that my life wasn’t as mine as I believed it to be.
I’m kidding, but it is kind of true. If we have to up and leave because there’s that calling to it, then who are we to resist that?
So anyways, here it is. I will accept the offer to put roots into fresh soil when it comes.
Instead of being on the run, I will navigate from the field where it has been planted. And come back.
I will plant seeds. Watch the tree grow.
AND eat the fruits.
(and travel, and play and all the rest)
I’m going to go into overdrive with my receiving. And with my activating of the things I really want to do and be.
I’ve decided! Enough with the just sort of’s
It’s time to step into all of the things that make me want to wiggle with glee in my seat, all the things that nourish my soul, all the things that make me squeal in my bed with joy at night time…that’s it….I’m choosing it.
I wonder, if I stop with this whole not being somewhere thing and actually let a place choose me – what else might be possible?