Back Home to Me

There is so much I love about my solitude.

I love cooking meals to the hum of a podcast, the football game on in the background while I clean.

I love looking up at my color-coded bookshelf deep in thought while writing my morning journal pages.

I love the quiet, crisp early spring mornings on a golf course, playing alone to the soundtrack of the birds, the wind, and my club swing.

I love the comfort of my couch on a solo Sunday, perfectly placed pillows inviting me to nap.

I love the running of bath water, epsom salt and lavender swirling in the air, inviting me to calm my mind for just a few moments.

I love my late night routine, when the whole world feels asleep—just a book, some tea, and me.

There is so much I love about the time spent in my own company. And yet.

There is sometimes a yearning for the footsteps of another, the shoulder perfect for crying on, the lap perfect for laying on, the hand perfect for holding mine, the heart ready to wrap around me like a warm fleece blanket.

That yearning nudges me to leave my solitude and find my "other half" to add to my "already whole." And so, I search—on courses and road trips, beaches and mountainsides, bars and barbecues, parties and patios.

Every now and again, I brush against another soul who makes me feel a spark, some hope. Does he have the footsteps, the shoulder, the lap, the hand, the heart I'm looking for?

Even though I know better—even though I deeply love myself and my solitude—I sometimes get lost in this open-ended question:

Is

He

The

One

With

Whom

I Belong?

Through this question, I arrive at a blurry purgatory. The only way out is to find my way back to solitude.

In the quiet of my own home, own heart, own mind, I begin to remember what I'll never forget:

That there is no need to cling to another—

Anything meant for me will come on its own time, without fail, and it will be beautiful.

That I can choose a time to end the call, the meal, the evening—

He will still be there tomorrow is he’s meant to be, ready to pick up where we left off.

That I don’t have to fish for a compliment—

They are already hanging on my bathroom mirror.

That there is no need to give away too much, too soon—

Any pleasure one can give me, I can give myself, including the pleasure of being loved.

That I can let my mind relax—

There is nothing for me to force or earn, just a moment to be enjoyed and released.

I begin to remember my truest truth:

I

Am

The

One

With

Whom

I Belong.

When I’m losing sight of myself, I promise to come back home—to my solitude, fierce independence, my self-love, and my relentless faith. I promise to come back to the beauty of my own footsteps, my own shoulder, my own hand, my own heart. I promise to come back to the book and the tea.

I promise to come back home to me.