Iv’e spent my whole life moving from city to country looking for “home”. Some people spend their whole life searching for fame, or the love of their life or self discovery, and mine has always been home. It’s silly really, because I must have known inside where it is all along, and it’s something I could only start to see once I’d gotten rid of all my “stuff”. I tried collecting lots of stuff everywhere I’ve lived to make my living space cozy. Quite a few people special to me have loved time spent lazing and living in the homes I’ve created, but to me it felt contrived and at times I felt cramped.

Lately I keep catching myself thinking, “… maybe I should run back and get changed into something at home first”, when I’m staying over at a friend’s home for a few days, or, “Hrm… I think… home is in that direction.” when I’ve left my hotel room to find some lunch and gotten a bit lost. It makes me happy every time I catch myself doing it.

I never felt it more acutely than when I did that walk across England. On that very last day and I was all alone walking in the wilderness and hadn’t seen a living soul for hours, I squatted to take a pee in the tall brush. I felt a huge mental shift of impossible proportions. I stood up and effortly lifted my previously heave-ho backpack back on. I stood there by the river for possibly an hour, with no idea what day of the week it was or what time it was. I took a photo with my mind that I’ll never forget – who I really am, with all the “stuff” I’ve worked so hard towards stripped from me, surrounded by the wild untamed unknown of my future life. I didn’t want to go back to the place I’d been living as much as I love Brighton… I just wanted to carry on walking, 20 miles a day, from town to town for the rest of my life. Just me and my trusty backpack. And I thank Quiddity for that. I can move on now from my search and spend my life chasing new dreams.

My home is and has always been wherever my butt slept last night.