Leo and I drove for nearly three hours so I could revisit some of my favorite old hiking trails. I’m obsessed with my dog, treating him like the human child I’m introducing to my old world. We spent the week with family and our solo time was spent retracing my old steps, stopping by to say hello to the views that used to make me feel whole. He laid in the passenger seat while I drove, looking at me like he was asking me to tell him stories or sing him songs the whole way. We drove through Washington’s scenic Highway 20, over the Cascades, stopping at the cutest, tiniest little chapel in the woods, Diablo Lake and the diner I always popped into to grab shitty coffee before sunrise over the water.

This was my first time home since last Christmas, it’s been nine months since I hugged my wonderful parents, since I was behind the wheel of a car or since I was in my beloved woods with dirt rings around my ankles. I kept sharing photos on social media with captions like “old stomping grounds” and “missed this place.” Thinking about it now, I don’t know if I actually missed my woods. Being there felt like floating through a recurring dream- the kind where you know what happens and where you are, but you could remove yourself from it and your world would go on turning just the same. These places are still so very special, this was and still is my home. My life in Washington was special in a way that is unique to these lakes and these trees and the mountains I learned strength and resilience from. There’s a particular kind of grief and exhale that comes from outgrowing past versions of yourself and those versions are often associated with the places that served as their backdrop. 

I spent an afternoon with my first dog (who I left with his dad when I moved to New York- more on that another day) and my new dog and looking at two sweet faces, I started to craft this monologue to myself- you can let the old stay old and let the new be new. You may evolve with self compassion, grace and permission to feel all things new while honoring what was.

These places still grab me by the throat and I’ll always feel a sense of identity from my dear woods, but they don’t feel like mine anymore. Maybe they gave me what they needed me to keep - these quiet places showed me how seasons work through their literal change, hoping I’d learn to appreciate my own change. And take all of that with me to my next home. And the next home after that. 

I’ve been so proud to have my Leo at my side, he’s the perfect adventure partner and continues to look up at me with the most honest eyes as to say, “it’s okay, let the new be new. We’re only going forward now.”

Home is where your heart is, it’s cheesy and it’s true. That can be many places and it can be parts of a past life that still bring comfort, even if that comfort is more like an old photograph than it is a reality. I think about all the places throughout my life that have felt like a home- London, Australia, my first shithole New York apartment. And then there’s people who feel like home- I won’t name names because it’s far too early to start spilling that kind of tea. 

From the bottom of my heart, I am deeply grateful for all of the people and places that have felt like home. With this evolution, I find myself exhaling and relating to “Landslide” lyrics all too closely.

Grant yourself permission to evolve- love notes to self.