It has only been a week and a half since I returned back to the UK after an incredibly peaceful, adventurous, fulfilling, productive, and simply bloody marvellous time in my home from home, Barcelona. A week and a half since I returned, and in some ways it feels like I have been back on home-turf for not even one day. Yet of course in other ways it feels that I have been back for much longer. The ever-fascinating illusion of time. I have still not fully unpacked my case, but all for very good reasons. I have travelled 500 miles up and down the country, visited family and dear friends, trialled new yoga classes and found that there is nothing (I truly believe this...) that can make you feel so welcomed and at one than entering a yoga class full of stranger yogis and just beginning the class. Really, I met a therapist not so long ago who I hoped would welcome me with open arms yet after five minutes in her company I wanted to leave the office never to return. Yet in this yoga class, a space where not a word is really spoken, apart from the usual 'welcome/take a mat/what's your experience, do you have any injuries....' I found much more connection than I did with a person who connection, I'd have hoped, was her second nature. I am an independent and competent woman but we all need to feel our feet firmly rooted on the ground of a home. We need to feel welcomed and loved. This hour and a half class gave me that. Try it... a class of strangers. See how possible it is to feel welcomed by people who know not a single thing about you and do not even need to know.
Anyway, I have indeed travelled 500 miles, I have been welcomed by others (and not just the yoga class...) I have also moved house (finally!!!), acquired three minor injuries in the process, found a new appreciation for removal vans and those who offer their time to drive them. I have also not surprisingly discovered my inability to let go of Spanish olive and melon eating habits (although less red wine has been consumed), and likewise found that I am now clinging onto my trusty sandals and my blue stone necklace as if they are the only parts of Barcelona that will remain with me. These are of course the positive parts of this week and a half. The parts I choose to write, but I am surprised that I am still awake. Evidently the Spanish timing of my circadian rhythms has not yet changed. I still eat late and sleep late and that is perfectly fine.
I am no longer nomadic, I have landed in my home. It is half unpacked but I am with wonderful company and it is home. I miss Barcelona, but I suspect it is more than just the city that I miss.