Home and away
I was in New York last week, for maybe the 4th or 5th time. I love that city – the electricity of the vibe, the energy pulsing through the streets and storefronts, the constant hum. It’s unlike any other place I’ve visited.
While I was there, I was marveling to my friend about the little hexagonal floor tiles that seem (to me) to only ever be seen in New York and nowhere else. We were in the Bagel Pub in Brooklyn and I commented how much I love those tiles and seeing them feels to me like a personalized “welcome to New York” sign.
She said to me, “Feels like home, doesn’t it?”
And while I knew what she meant – that intangible familiarity that comes from seeing something that gives you comfort or recognition – New York is nothing like home to me.
Home is where I’m relaxed, where I unclench, where I am in my zone. There is something so comforting about home because it’s known. It’s secure, it’s comfortable, it’s understood. I know what I’ll be doing each day, I know where my next meals will be, I know what my needs are and how to fill them.
But when I travel, I notice things. The smell of a place, the way my shoe hits the ground when I walk, the chatter of passerby on all sides. I tune into it all. It makes me feel alive and electric in a way I don’t when I’m in my usual routine. Most things are a surprise, each new moment a chance for delight and wonder.
Neither is better than the other, and I feel strongly that both are essential to our experience of life. To have places that are both safe and known, and places that invite our undivided attention and energy, is to have the full range of our aliveness available to us. May we all be so lucky as to experience home and away, alternatingly, throughout our lives.
