Home

It’s a paradox—a concept that pulls me in two directions at once, like an anchor on a rope tethered to the very core of my being. 

It's a place we carry inside us, but also a place we're always searching for. Ever elusive — like shifting tides that never quite settle in the same spot.

At first glance, "home" may seem simple. 

It’s where I sleep, where my possessions are, the place I return to after every adventure. 

But that’s only one layer. 

What I’ve come to realise is that home isn’t just a physical place, it’s a feeling, a vibration that exists at the intersection of belonging and freedom. 

To me, it’s where my roots feel the most nourished and yet, paradoxically, where I am free to be who I am without the weight of expectations.

I’ve spent my whole life in one place, and there was a comfort in knowing the land like the back of my hand, in the cadence of the familiar streets and faces. 

But now, having left, moving from one place to another, I’ve discovered that home isn’t about permanence. 

It’s not a house with four walls or a small town frozen in time. 

It’s wherever my heart can open up and feel the pull of connection.

Home is in the conversations with strangers that feel familiar, in the laughter shared around a fire with people whose names I’ll forget but whose faces I’ll carry with me. 

Home is in the silence of the Arctic tundra, where the vastness makes me feel both insignificant and deeply connected to something greater than myself. 

It’s in the moments of stillness, where time ceases to matter, and in the chaos of change, where I feel truly alive.

And yet, the impermanence of this life is the toughest part. 

I have tasted the sweetness of adventure, but each time I leave a place, I leave a piece of myself behind. 

The constant movement, the shifting landscapes, the endless goodbyes—it all wears on me. It’s a beautiful kind of exhaustion, but a longing remains. 

Home is the place where I’m torn between staying, going, settling, and growing roots, or learning to fly and learning through a bird’s-eye view…

Perhaps that’s the key—home is not about one place. 

It’s about the spaces between the leaving and returning, the acts of creating and re-creating. 

It’s in the moments of stillness and in the restless pursuit of something beyond the horizon. Home is a state of being, not a fixed point on a map, but the place where I feel grounded in the midst of everything changing.

It’s the quiet comfort of sitting with my partner in a space where we can both be ourselves, whether we’re in the Arctic, a city, or an unknown place. 

It’s the shared understanding that, despite the transient nature of everything, we’ve found a place of peace together. 

And perhaps that’s the truest form of home: the ability to be fully present in the moment, wherever that moment happens to be.

Home is not where I’ve been, nor where I’m going, but in the process of becoming, in the space where I find my centre amid the chaos. 

It's the balance between freedom and connection, between impermanence and the desire for roots. 

It's not a destination—it's the journey itself and the people, places, and experiences that shape it.

Home…

My home…

Is organised chaos and a beautiful mess.