I am home in NY for the week.
I almost didn’t take this trip…and I cant even tell you exactly why yet…because the truth is hard to declare.
Home is sitting around the table with my best friend of 15-years, and dear friends, over homemade sauce and meatballs, perfectly cooked pasta that only an Italian husband can perfect, having 8 conversations at once, eating with both hands, bottles of red, and more bottles of red, laughter and depth. History and comfort. With the newest addition to the table: little baby addie, who my best friend, her momma, calls peach or munch (short for munchkin). Having your heart burst wide open seeing your best friend be a momma. The kinda table there’s never a wait list for, never a dress code, never a sense that you cant be who you are…because after all this table of people has seen you at your highest and lowest, and this table has always been a place to celebrate, to cry, to wonder, to regret, to tell the truth…no matter what. Home.
Home is walking down the familiar streets, with sweet friends, noticing that nothing and everything has changed. The type of friendships where within 5 minutes you can catch up on an entire year…and then you just keep walking, like it hasn’t been that long. Because home is feeling like you just saw each other last week, no matter how much time has passed.
Home is being handed the keys to a home and a car, fresh magnolias on the night stand that send you to sleep so easily…creating the types of dreams you have when your eyes are open, remembering when someone cared so much about you, that they left magnolias where you sleep, so you would know how loved you are. Fresh coffee in the morning, ‘sweetie, there’s dinner in the fridge if you’re hungry’ at night, and ‘hey were out of basil…would you mind getting some on your way out.’ Because you, are a part of something big called a family, even if you weren’t born into this family, you chose them and they chose you.
Home is being let into the vulnerable space of a strong beautiful woman, a friend of many years, who had a baby girl 2-weeks ago. A baby boy upstairs sleeping. An art studio for a living room, giant dinosaurs next to potted plants. The trust of letting a new little baby, brand new to the big world, rest on my chest, as she makes sweet little noises like a puppy. Watching her tiny lips work their way into a smile, blinking her beautiful blue eyes open for a moment…so I can see, she’s so magnificent, just like her momma. From this view, staring fondly into the living room, remembering nights from many many years ago, sitting around the kitchen table at 1am, smoking pot out of a coconut and laughing hysterically, planning surf trips to the coast. Their wedding on the lake, stealing the microphone from the DJ, the drum sticks from the drummer, and the sweat and sweet sweet bliss of 4 hours of dancing with all that love around. Home is kitchen dance parties, bbq’s in the backyard, finger paintings hanging on the fire place, the evolution of love, from 2 people to 4 people, family.
Home is walking into the yoga studio that you’ve taught hundreds of classes in. The place where you grew up, and began to heal. The space in which you taught and were a student with very little distinction between the two. The space you went when your heart was broken, when he didn’t love you, when you didn’t get the job, when you didn’t love him, when you moved to buffalo, when you moved to Kenya, when you moved to California, when you were afraid, when you got moose and brought him in on the very first day he was yours. The space in which you found your voice, lost your voice, lost your way, found it again and again by reaching high and folding forward, by breathing in, and breathing out. The one million om’s. the breakdowns and breakthroughs. You had never told the truth in this way…not until you realized your life depended on it. And here, in that realization, you began to truly live. 7 years ago you started…and today you walk in, and you are given the space to teach after all these years, the honor to know there’s still truth to be told, there always will be, to celebrate how far we have all come together.
And so these days, home is California. The beginnings of all the things above. And oh so sweet, and I feel safe and cared for here. Does home take time? Yes. Can home be anywhere. Yes. Do I know though where…where will my family expand. Where will I fall so in love, and begin to build, with our 4-hands a life together. What will it look like around us. The ocean? Open land? A city, a town? Will the people around us be familiar, or will they be new. When will I be more than just me. And yes, just me is beautiful but I know, it’s not enough, not for what I want to create in this lifetime. And so I didn’t want to come here, home to NY, because I don’t know the answer to any of that, and on a fear level, it stops me and my lights, they get low, and I cant see. The answers. The how. The when. And then I tell the truth…and I remember, it’s not about the answers. It’s about the wonder and engagement of life.
That home is all these things. And things I cant even begin to imagine, yet. Having lived now in many different places I know now, that a light cannot be taken away, no thing, no one, can. And so I breathe in and breathe out, and I do not know…but it doesn’t mean, I am not home.
Anywhere. Everywhere. And there’s a big ol life to discover, and there’s no time to be afraid of what I might see. Truth is, home is still a place, I don’t know yet.