Sometimes, stepping away from everything you know is the only way to truly see it.
We all have places we’ve outgrown, or thought we had. The home that once felt heavy, the routine that seemed suffocating, the four walls that turned into a mirror for our restlessness. But what if it wasn’t the place holding you back? What if it was what you carried inside it?
This reflection isn’t just about leaving, it’s about what happens after. About how distance can change the way we see, and how coming home can mean something completely different when you’ve changed on the inside.
When I left, I thought I was escaping. I blamed the space itself, its weight, its stillness, the predictability of every day. But leaving didn’t free me from it. Because I took myself with me.
Nine months on the road taught me what comfort can’t. Living without familiarity forces you to meet yourself, unfiltered. I faced discomfort, loneliness, and uncertainty, but also strength, calm, and gratitude that could only come from being stripped bare.
Now, returning home feels not only right but necessary. The same walls that once felt like they were closing in now look like a sanctuary, not because they’ve changed, but because I have. When the inner shifts, the outer loses its hold.
And maybe that’s what home really is, not a physical space, but a state of being. A place inside you that feels safe, at peace, grounded. When you find that, your surroundings stop defining you.
I’ve learned to build that sense of home through small, deliberate rituals. A morning chant that activates the parts of the mind that silence can’t reach. The scent of incense marks a quiet reset. Yoga, not as an asana, but as remembrance, through breath and poses that connect me inward. These practices aren’t borrowed or imitated; they’re respected, understood, and integrated. Each one connects me back to the teachers and traditions that carried this wisdom forward. Because human wisdom isn’t meant to be owned, it’s meant to be shared. Honouring where it comes from makes it real.
So, as you read this, maybe ask yourself:
Where do you feel most at home?
Is it a place, or a feeling?
And if it’s a feeling, what would it take to build that wherever you are?
This time, coming home doesn’t feel like going backwards. It feels like arriving, finally, where I was meant to be all along.
