October 30, 2015

The Trouble With Asking a Traveler Where Home is.

  travel backpack woman

Today I got asked where I live by a man in a blazer.

He had kind eyes, a soft tone, and listened without interrupting.

All in all, it was a conversation worth beginning.

I stared at him awhile, then replied,

I live somewhere between:

I know exactly what I’m doing. Everything’s great!


I’m making this all up. I hope no one can tell.

(Blended together, it’s sort of a roundabout state.)

I live in the lyrics of a band you’ve not heard of. Their first album. An EP. Track 5. Start at 1:23.

On that flip-phone Nokia, press speed dial seven. You’ll get me

I live always near water but never by sagebrush. It’s an Aquarian thing.

And far too convenient, I live near a drive-thru. Ask for the Burrito Supreme.

I room beside artists, great thinkers, a singer and redhead, where every morning I live in dreamland, slaying dragons through the snooze button, all snuggled in bed.

I (still) live next-door to Ms. Fitzpatrick, my childhood neighbor. I moved after graduation, but her memory is fading.

And best of all, I live between your inhale and my exhale, in the pause and shared silence. It’s a new world we’re creating.

The man in the blazer smiled with kind eyes…then moved on. Next topic please. The answer he was looking for was more like “Downtown” or “South Side.” “Further inland, near the college.” An actual destination. Somewhere to map out and pinpoint. North meets West tacked to a grid unit.

But the trouble with asking a traveler their location is that they always are moving and changing. In pursuit of the treasure, on a quest across the horizon…absorbing, then ghosting.

So where exactly do I live you might wonder?

I suppose you could say I live spitting distance from Expectation. It’s one hop, two skips and a jump from Reality. Keep going, en route to Perception—where too I’ve been rumored to crash. It’s only one football field’s length away from Everything-I-Ever-Wanted.

You’ll catch me in the nosebleed section of Control and Attachment. The price seemed too steep to sit any closer. However when Miracles show up, and they do, all the time—I spring for the box seats. Put me up front and center.

Sometimes I live under the staggering weight of my own Self-Judgment. I got tired of crouching in the shadow of my Ego. Tirelessly I attempt to cross the tightrope of Integrity. And on the opposite side, I stand on the shoulders of Truth and Responsibility. Of importance to note, is this travel moves Light. To live here and get here, I can’t take heavy baggage.

To live here and get here I release the unnecessary weight.


If you really want to pinpoint Home, it’s no state secret:

I live a mere stone’s throw from Nirvana. The mailbox also reads: Heaven and Eden, Utopia At Last. And I’ll give you the coordinates: Surrender, daily meditation, and the practice of Gratitude.

Blissfully I couch-surf in Joy–it borders the outskirts of Silly, where I go skinny-dipping in Imagination, stripping away all past Shoulds. And I live on the edge of Wild Abandon just catty-corner from Logic and Reason. (But that’s never stopped me from living in the heat of the moment.)

Beyond the crossroads of Doubt, Faith, and Trust, I dance in Devotion. I’ve kept an anchor in Compassion, so I stay sandwiched between Vulnerability and Love. I live here with my family, my soul tribe, and newfound reflections.

And right here, I am living.

Though really quite briefly.

It’s a mere moment.

Did you catch it?

Let’s call it Now.






Author: Maelyn Gandola

Editor: Renée Picard

Photo: Steven Lewis at Unsplash 

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