God bless this hippy dippy soul

I have always loved to travel; to shake up my worldview. I turned 16 on the legendary Venetian canals and walked the Great Wall of China my junior year. I wandered through war museums in Budapest with my brother in 12th grade and circumnavigated Jamaica shortly after graduation. I turned 19 seeing the temples of Angkor Wat by day and dancing the streets of Siem Reap at night. A month later I became a certified Yoga Teacher in northern Thailand and, shortly after, started an adventure program that would allow me to explore the most beautiful parts of North America. 

I have always felt most free, most me, on the road. Everything I need within reach and everything else forgotten. A journal tucked close by to catch the whispers of magic. They always seem to appear in the most mundane moments. A delay at the airport or getting food in the local streets… Asking a stranger for directions or waking up to the sounds of a new city. It’s the simple moments that remind us we humans are all the same. And I’ve always found inspiration in these snippets of humility. 

I tried to return “home” last year. I say “home” because some might say I’m not allowed to call it that… And I am questioning what this word means to me, too. 

As I returned to the place that raised me and made me the person I am…

To the place that showed me what the words love, community, and generosity truly mean.

To the place that gave me a reality check and demanded I learn to walk along the tightrope of joy and pain…

As I returned home, to an island in the Arctic, I began to panic. Big time. 

The me I had spent so long creating ceased to exist. The one who would drive to the mountains on the weekends or go on impromptu road trips to hot springs or climbing areas just because she could. The me who would explore new coffee shops and yoga studios… who loved finding a little camping spot off the most unexpecting forest service road. The me that would skinny dip any chance she’d get. The one who could disappear at a concert or find a psychic nearby in times of need.

Upon returning home, the dirtbag I’d grown to know and love ceased to exist. 

But it wasn’t always that way. While growing up I let my freak flag fly. I incessantly wore harem pants and grandma-knit sweaters. Tie-dye shirts and patchwork skirts. I shaved my head just to walk out of high school with my middle finger high. And I made sure everyone knew my theories on the government and corporate institutions. 

But the freedom I once felt entitled to was now a mere memory. 

And this time was different.

Being an adult back home felt very, very different.

I felt stifled and alone. Unable to connect and threatened by my own opinions. 

I was reliving the pain of adolescence, but this time without the numbing embrace of drugs.

I was losing who I thought might be the love of my life.

I tried to drive it out. Please just let me borrow the car, I would beg.

But low and behold, 20 miles of road can only get a vagabond so far. 

And peace was still elusive after an hour of looping the same old roads. 

So I did the most sound thing I could and left town before my sanity did. 

By that point, Boulder had become the place I felt the most freedom and peace. And so I returned to put back together the pieces of my shattered heart and attempt to remember why life was worth living.

As I skied the enchanting Colorado mountains and returned to Natural Highs… Laughed with the dearest and queerest of souls and volunteered at Acudetox clinics. As I talked to strangers about reincarnation as if it were the weather and browsed my favorite used gear store… I thought to myself “I never want to leave.”

Contentment. Santosha. 

Ah! This is what it means to feel at home… To be happy exactly where I am. To never need to run again. I was flooded with gratitude. I had always known of this feeling, but to embody it and be at such peace was a true blessing. “I am home” I thought to myself.

And then, of course, as soon as this understanding landed in my body, a new lesson clicked into action. 

Non attachment. 

And before you could blink an eye I was on my way, Subaru packed to the ceiling and kitty on my lap, back to Canada.