When I originally sat down to write this post, something else came out. I found that as I began to process what “coming home” has meant for me this summer, the need to define “home” became my priority. If you haven’t read my post about my meaning of home yet, go read it, and then come back to this in a few minutes.
I made the decision this spring to relocate back to the US earlier than expected, with the intention of establishing a new home base in Boulder, Colorado. Knowing myself (read: Since I love to change my mind), I knew this was an experiment, and I even said up front that I wasn’t sure it would work out.
While in Boulder, I put my head down and made great strides in my work, which was my goal. But I also got swept up in a mindset that I wasn’t enamored with. The problem, though, was that I couldn’t even identify this mindset until I left Colorado.
I just knew something was “off.”
The Boulder Brainwash
I may get some heat for that headline. Bear with me, people.
The day before I left Colorado to drive back to Montana, I stored some things in my friends’ basement. As I added a rice cooker to the pile of stuff, I couldn’t help but notice that I was… storing a rice cooker. Traveling Jackie, storing a rice cooker in someone’s basement. I literally tried to hide it as I hurried it downstairs so no one would see.
Something about this really bothered me. To what end was I keeping this rice cooker? (Besides the fact that I embarrassingly can’t cook rice on a stove). Why collect things at all when I just end up continually storing them anyway, with no end to this pattern in sight?
The question bothered me, because I didn’t know the answer. I stored the rice cooker anyway, and I left Colorado with a uneasy feeling. My mind was racing almost as fast as my old truck as I headed for the Montana state line, and as soon as I crossed it, the magic happened.
I had just finished listening to Essentialism for the umpteenth time. When it ended, all I had in front of me was my Montana, and the silence of the open road, accompanied only by my thoughts.
I suddenly knew what was wrong with Colorado.
Colorado is FULL of wonderful people who have established home bases there, because it’s a beautiful place to live and return to after traveling. But establishing a home base in itself means keeping an apartment, furnishing that apartment, having a car that is probably newer than my trusty old truck, and collecting material things like rice cookers, simply because one has a place to house them.
It is laying down roots that only become harder and harder to pick up, and I was beginning to feel pinned down.
Before I left, I was planning to come back. I was considering looking at Subarus, which would be more ideal for Colorado mountains and cross-country road trips. I was spending more money than I wanted to on rent, going out, even groceries.
My life in Colorado was expensive. I knew I would have to up my income to be able to afford the life I really wanted there, and that caused me stress. What did that life “I really wanted” look like, anyway? A nicer place where I could live by myself, a better car, a bigger entertainment budget, nicer, better, bigger, more expensive…
Slap me in the face, wake me up, and let me run in the other direction.
I’M NOT READY.
I don’t want to “buy in” to the material world until I feel confident that it’s the right step for me. There may be a time when having a newer car is the right step. There may be a time when having an apartment or house to call my own is the right step.
But it is not this time. In fact, I’m nowhere near that time.
Montana hit me like windshield wipers in a mud puddle, and I am grateful.
Going “Home”
I wonder how long it would have taken me to figure this out if I didn’t have the help and clarity of the road while driving “home” to Montana.
Chaos abounds in this life, and if we don’t have a safe place to escape from it and collect ourselves, we will become creatures of default. Rather than carve out our own paths through the chaos, we will begin to mold ourselves around what already exists, defaulting to it, losing bits of control (and ourselves) as we go.
This is not how I want to live my life.
Every time I read/listen to Essentialism, something different stands out to me. This time, it was to make my decisions by design, not default.
I was beginning to default to Colorado, and I recognized a struggle. I changed my path in an effort to seek out something familiar that would help ground me. I went to Montana because I needed it. I needed a place I know, where I feel a sense of identity and belonging. I sought out one of my favorite books that I trust to guide me as I went, I listened to my thoughts, and I met myself there, as if waiting for myself to show back up.
While Montana certainly is one of my “homes,” this grounding clarity did not come from a geographical place, but from a heart space. It came in taking the time to step away, reflect and reassess my position from a different perspective. It came from asking myself what I really do want.
And as I made a mental list of things I really do want, you want to know what wasn’t on it at all? An apartment, a new car, or anything else I was getting swept up with in Boulder.
I’m NOT ready.
Coming home means coming back to what’s important to me, in my life, no matter what anyone else is doing.
When I think about that rice cooker now, sitting there in that basement doing absolutely nothing, I can’t wait to get rid of it. I don’t want to be responsible for things that truly mean nothing to me. That rice cooker doesn’t enrich my life, but I know that the freedom of getting rid of it would. Greatly.
It’s a small example, but these small pieces are what make up the big picture in all of our lives.
I want to design my picture with purpose. I’m grateful to have the self-awareness to go “home” and listen to myself amidst the very strong, chaotic currents of society. And once again, I’m taking my home on the road, where I know, without a doubt, I still belong.
