I have always been a lover of home—but being away for a whole, enormously grand sixteen days makes home feel divinely beloved, freshly sanctified in the mind. The feelings crescendo the way they do five minutes before midnight on New Year’s Eve: tender, anticipatory, almost aching.
About five days ago, I started dreaming of my house—ready for the trip to come to an end, though still days away from our flight home. I dreamed of cuddling my pets, tucking my face into my cat’s fur, scratching my pups’ heads. I thought about my shower, how it bellows out hot water at any pressure I desire, on simple demand. I imagined my bedroom—my window facing the silent backyard, my big puffy blankets draped over a cloud-like mattress.
I daydreamed about walking around my bed to crawl in, clicking on my warm light-glowing lamp to read, and slowly getting sleepy in a safe and quiet place.
And yet—none of those daydreams could fully illuminate just how incredible it feels to actually be home.
Last night, I slipped into my smooth, silky sheets. My pillows had just the right amount of squish, cradling my head like gentle caregivers for the night. The only sound was a tiny ticking clock beside my bed. Other than that—silence. Silence. Silence.
I drifted into such a deep sleep that I happily forgot where I was. When I woke and stumbled toward the door for a morning pee, I still thought I was in some hotel in the Galápagos. Then it hit me: the door was close. The room was small. I am home.
I am home!!!
Today holds many beloved tasks—catching up with clients, grocery shopping for a new meal plan to support a Buttcamp challenge I’m starting, responding to emails, gently restarting the engine of my career after two weeks away. But for now, I sit in my office chair, sipping strong coffee…. slowly.
Elton, my cat, keeps me company—perched on my desk enjoying the view, then stretched out behind me on the rug, making soft, muffled cat noises of contentment. I don’t want this moment to end. I want to stay mindful of just how beautiful life is. How much there is to be enjoyed all around me.
Outside, the world is greyscale. Rain patters softly on the carport roof. Birds chirp—yes, even in the middle of winter—keeping the sleepy morning alive and cheerful. I’m home in my houseplants, who are clearly happy to see me. Their beauty is uncanny. The closeness I feel to them is real. I’ve seen where some of them come from—ancestors growing wild, wrapped around palm trees 75 feet up, enormous and free. I’m grateful to care for them here, in this quiet captivity. They give me clean air and something beautiful to rest my eyes on.
I feel immensely grateful to be home. To have a career I love. Clients I hold dear to my heart. People whose next chapters I am trusted to care for and guide, here on this island-where beauty is woven into daily life.
I don’t need much to be happy. This trip put that into perspective. I don’t need much to feel love, just my two feet and some heart beats.
A community to belong to. Nature to explore and connect with. A backyard to dig my hands into when the weather warms. An environment that thrives with beauty and birdsong.
Oh, home.
I am home.