The art of coming home to you.
Every part of her was like coming home after a long spell of Away.
The way she poured the hot water. The measurement of three scoops of coffee. The spatula in her hand, the mint chocolate chip cookies pulling off from the pan. The way she invited me in. Told me to sit. Turned off her phone. And let me spread my entire life before her--blog posts & conversations still tucked in my lips & thoughts & even fears--to map out an outline. An I'm-going-to-grow-wings-and-be-a-real-live-book-proposal kind of outline.
It was the first time--in a very long while--that someone had let the quiet come in all around us & just asked deeper questions without asking anything at all: Are you feeling like a blessing? Do you know your purpose for today? Tomorrow?
How can I help you get closer to the person you always said you wanted to be?
And while the conversation was good, the progress- good, the cookies- fantastic, I just kept thinking: This woman is a living, breathing sense of Home. Home with kneecaps & fingernails.
I want to be just like her. Just like her.
Not in the sense that I'm copying or hoarding traits of her personality to take for my own, but that I want to be that kind of Home to somebody. To make somebody think, when they are sitting beside me with mug pressed between two hands, that they are right where they belong. That yes, they are good but there is always better. A better lover. A better dreamer. A better human being--not by standards of the world but by standards of the heart when its raw & tender & and just asks of you one thing: be good to people. Love the limbs off of them.
To let someone know that they are not less of what they need to be. Not more. Just perfect and right for that very moment.
That someone understands them. That someone wants deeply for them. That someone is sitting there beside them, ready to stir that same familiar & unrivaled feeling: you pull into the driveway, laundry buckled in the back seat and empty Starbucks sitting in the cup holder, to the lights on. The kettle steeping. Your bed made. And you are home, so home, after a time that seemed sprinkled with long & hard.
I guess that is a worthy purpose for my Today: to learn to carry with me always the kind of Home you never could find the words for. To be able to give & be in a way that makes people think the world isn't so cold, that it hasn't quite lost its shine. To leave people feeling like their bones are recharged and their spirit has been strengthened and yes, oh yes, they can tackle the trials in that moment. They can get stronger & then they can teach others to be the same kind of strong. & so off they set to tackle the world.
We need that. More tacklers of the world. More I-can't-sit-still-and-let-things-be-this-way people. More movers. More shakers. More lovers. More people who see the wrong in the world & it itches at their skin like ivy of the poison kind. And they've got to be, just got to be, some kind of aloe.
Home. To the people who have needed it for far too long.
Home. To the ones who have been waiting for the lights to turn on & the kettle to steep.