I long to let my roots grow deep and strong. I long to belong, to feel truly grounded; but I feel lost, and I am left the wonder: where is my true home? In the nearly 20 years that have passed since I left Sweden, I have lived in Toronto; on Vancouver Island; on one of the Gulf Islands; in Haarlem; in Amsterdam and now in Brighton, but I wonder why I’m more reticent now than ever to let my roots become truly... rooted. To allow a place to feel like home.
Despite my weak and shallow-growing roots,
- My god son. Although I don’t see him as often as I used to, he and I have a very special bond, and I feel a responsibility towards him that is impossible to ignore. He roots me here more than anyone or anything else
- The sea. It’s only a few minutes away from my house, and I walk along the shore nearly every day. It never looks the same. It always looks beautiful
- I’m starting a 10 week taster course at the
Shiatsu Collegein Brightontomorrow, and I’m hoping to like it so much that I will want to enrol in their three-year course starting this autumn
- I can walk to work in less than five minutes
- A selection of drop-in yoga classes are readily available for me to choose from – every day of the week, day and night
- Walking through a bluebell woodland at this time of the year is magical, I can almost believe I live in King Arthur’s
- Rosie. She depends on me and I doubt I could ever leave Brighton as long as she's still here
I suppose for the time being, the pros outweigh the cons. But for how long I wonder?
Photo by Adrian