No. 003

A friend recently told me I felt like home.

Not because I solved her problems.

Not because I had answers.

Not because I fixed what was broken.

Because for the first time in a long time, she slept through the night.

I’ve been thinking about that ever since.

Home isn’t always a place.

Sometimes it’s a person.

A conversation.

A feeling.

A nervous system that finally realizes it doesn’t have to be on guard.

Home is the place where performance is no longer required.

Where your shoulders soften.

Where your breath deepens.

Where you are no longer trying to become someone.

Only allowed to be.

Maybe that’s why we spend so much of our lives searching for it.

And why, every now and then, we find it in each other

Question

What are you still trying to control that may be asking to be released?