Today I was reminded of a principle I learned years ago when I undertook a course in NLP (Neuro Linguistic Programming).The principle? It is human nature to move away from pain and believe that life is perpetually about avoiding pain and discomfort. During those empowering lessons, I discovered that we spend our lives moving away from pain and discomfort until we learn to move towards something.
Do you spend more time in your life moving away from pain or moving towards something you want? After much studying, listening, reading, and doing, I have concluded that those who are successful in life (however each person defines success for themselves) occupy their time with moving towards something rather than away from discomfort.
In my life, I feel better when I am working towards completing my series of murder mysteries (moving towards a goal) than when I am figuring how to avoid costly repairs for my car (avoiding discomfort). Kicking those small goals, each day or week reminds me that I am a creative being. I revel in that notion. For years I was not sure I was creative at all, but nowadays that is, in hindsight, a silly idea! But thinking about driving around in a faulty and unreliable car creates a hum of adrenaline in my body that is unpleasant, to put it mildly – something I most definitely wish to avoid!
What am I moving away from?
I have reached a point in my travels where I can feel the seeds of wanting more than what is on offer in the wandering lifestyle I have adopted. Frankly I think I am incapable of staying still long enough to completely stop travelling. But the need for a base from which I can explore other roads and places is becoming stronger.
I prefer to think I am moving towards a different horizon than moving away from some perceived unpleasantness. For some time, I figured those who know me would hold me to some invisible bar that says I must keep moving, keep driving, keep living the van life, whether my heart is in it or not. But in truth that idea has nothing to do with my friends and family. That is a prison I created for myself sourced in the notion that whatever I begin, I must not change my mind.
Why not? I love what van life offers: freedom, fresh air, connections with nature and stories shared with strangers. Time is also one of the biggest bonuses; time to write, walk, breathe, relax, observe, be. Until last year, I don’t think I knew just how much I needed all of those choices. Sometimes it feels like there are two people in my head. One wants a home base, to feel I am part of community.
Equal and opposite in force is my need to buck the straitjacket of predictability that once overlaid my life. Meeting strangers, hearing stories from people who move in circles far away from my own experiences is enriching and deepens my wonder at the world that exists beyond my limited perspective. Parallel to that is a deeper exploration of self that enriches my internal landscape.
What is home?
Curiously, what I have learned is that security is not a reality. I think home is where the heart is and if my heart is in walking through nature, listening to the birds, watching clouds roll and form marvellous vistas of white, and moving among people but connecting when I choose, then I am home.
As a kid, I understood home as a bricks and mortar kind of deal where friends and family and foes and strangers gathered, sometimes with my permission, at other times, not. Home was a place to gather ‘stuff’ from both the emotional spheres and the physical spheres of life; a place to make memories, deal with the messiness of life, and a place to celebrate success and commiserate about misfortunes.
After being turfed out of my home on more than one occasion I questioned the nature of security and what exactly home is. During early childhood, my home was an unsettling environment. As an adult, I created stable homes while I raised my children. Now, without parenting responsibilities, I wonder how to define home.
Does home equal familiarity? Is it a physical place or a feeling? A sense we feel when we are relaxed? I experience that feeling when I am with family and when I am with close friends – how fortunate am I to be part of communities where people judge me less harshly than I judge myself?
Could home mean knowing ourselves well enough to be at peace in our own skin? Am I there yet? I am getting there. As I continue wandering the country and meandering through life’s questions, perhaps I will come to peace with understanding, deeply, that home is wherever I am.
Or it will take me the rest of my life to be at home with who I am, or perhaps by letting go of any rigid notions of what home is, I am closer than I think.
Are you at home with who you are and where you are? Is home a physical place for you or is it a metaphorical peg where you hang your heart and soul?
How do you define “home”?
Originally published @ https://ko-fi.com/in_between
Christine Writer 