Here I am in Denmark. Ever since leaving our place in Costa Rica 11 days ago, Coco and I have been on the road. My natural disposition is that of a homebody, so traveling here and there is not easy for me. Coco doesn’t seem to be bothered; she’s just relaxed and happy wherever she is.
The first night we stayed at a hotel near the airport. Because I had slept there many times over the years, I was very comfortable in the room. Then followed a few busy days at an Airbnb cottage in San Rafael, California. I stayed there before, too, so I felt at home immediately. Back to the airport, where I boarded the Scandinavian Airlines plane; lo and behold, I was at home there, as well. On a plane! (I must add that fortunately for me, I sat next to a very attractive man.)
The logistics of arriving in Copenhagen were difficult, involving my jet-lagged dog, the heavy, cumbersome dog kennel, my suitcases and carry-on, a bus to the rental car center, no luggage carts, several bruises, and to complete the intensity, the wrong rental car. After the 11-hour flight, and another three hours of futzing around at the airport, I drove in a daze to my next Airbnb rental. Without GPS, just a printed map; I had not stayed there before.
Finally found it, walked in, and surprise – I felt totally at home. But I could only stay there for three nights. Since my rental cottage in the small village where my sister lives is not ready yet, due to delays with much-needed renovations, I am now staying with two lovely friends for another few days. They are still at work and left the key for me, and I am nicely settled in.
As I am sitting on the sofa in the sunroom, gazing beyond my computer screen into their manicured garden, I notice the warm feeling of total at-home-ness. Although I uprooted myself from my safe, cozy and familiar environment 11 days ago, I have been feeling at home every step of the journey. So “at home” really doesn’t have much to do with the actual place, but with me. Yes, yes, everybody knows this concept – or perhaps even the reality of it – but I am experiencing it real-time right now.
What does “at home” mean for me? I feel grounded, strong, relaxed, calm and clear. I notice all kinds of details around me – the different birdsong, the look and fragrance of Danish summer flowers; cool, fresh air; big white fluffy clouds in the sky. My body is alive, its senses vibrant, I am connected, the mind empty. The fact that I have not reached my original destination – the house in the small village that is to be my home for the next few months – is completely irrelevant.
A lot of life is based on illusion. We cannot take anything with us when we die, so cultivating that which is beyond death has become essential for me. One of the qualities that transcends death is to be at home in myself. Coming home after the dissolution of pretty much all my life structures over the past two years is a relief and yet another liberation.
PS. Yes, there is a lot to be learned from my Wonderdog Coco! 🐾