I left home for the first time at 20 years old, with my 2 year old twin sons. It was the second time in my life that I seen my Dad cry.
He pulled the boys to his chest, tears falling on their heads, repeating:
"Take care of my boys. Take care of my boys. Take care of my boys."
With the last of our belongings rattling in the back of a 97' Chevy Metro, I pull out of the driveway, kicking up rocks and memories. Behind me: the dusty road I grew up on. In front of me: the unknown.
I glance in the rearview mirror, the boys side by side in duplicate car seats, arms outstretched in delight, excited for the journey.
I look away, no longer able to hold it in, and cry:
"I will, Dad."
I left that day an adult, and there was no going back. I had 2 little boys to raise. 2 little boys, who already had, in their eyes, home with them...sitting in the driver's seat.
It wasn't until after my first day of class, at the University Montana, that I felt the heaviness of it all. Trudging through the snow to family housing, with a backpack full of textbooks, arms full of groceries, on my way to pick up the boys at day-care, that I felt it.
The heaviness of leaving home.
"Will I?"
"Will I take care of them? Will I do a good job? What if I fuck it all up? What if I fuck them all up? I haven't even figured out how to get from one end of town to the other."
Since then, "Leaving Home" has taken on a bigger meaning. I started to see a running theme throughout my life. The concept of "Leaving Home" playing both a physical and spiritual role in my life. Leaving home became about leaving my comfort, my safety, my support, etc. It meant leaving what I know, and sometimes getting lost or forgetting my way.
And although its understandable that leaving home is necessary in some cases, such as moving away to go to school, to better life for yourself and your family. It still means leaving the comfort zone and committing to the unfamiliar. There's no turning back; I would never be the same.
Leaving home forced me to trust myself and my spiritual journey. It forced me to get lost, to figure things out, to learn and grow. It forced me to find out what I wanted and what I didn't want in my life.
But, most importantly, it forced me to remember.
To remember who I am at my core, who I was born to be, my potential, my hopes, and my dreams.
Remembering, for me, is a resonance. It is the spark of inspiration, emotion, feeling, or belief that hits me when something touches my soul. It can't always be explained. I feel it. I know it. I remember it.
Over the years, I've learned to hone in on remembering by following the spark. And this spark has never failed to lead me back home, back to love, in the smallest and biggest ways.
Home is love.
Home is compassion, patience, forgiveness, acceptance, growth and expansion, guidance, support, trust, etc.
Home pulls me into its chest and cries:
"Take care of yourself. Take care of yourself. Take care of yourself."
Home outstretches its arms in delight:
"I'm so glad you're back. Sit down and tell me all about your journey!"
Home takes the heaviness of the day, the month, the year and assures you that it will all be ok. And it will gladly help you with your bags and show you to your room, where you can lay your head and wrap up in warmth...knowing that when you leave again, and you will...
that you can always come back.
Sending my Love and Light.
Don't forget to subscribe below and share the inspiration!
