Home is where the heart is...

I was at home for 3 full days this week and it simply wasn't enough. Between catching up with family and friends, planning for a 10 day trip to France (during which I'll co-captain a team for a week long tournament) and tying up some loose ends a work, I feel like I didn't have a minute to myself. I haven't reflected. I haven't been to my house, to our house. I didn't see my grandmother. I turned down more invitations than I accepted. I felt a pressure to be around people, to give myself to people and to conduct myself in a certain way. It's a strange bedfellow of a feeling.

Leading up to my flight home from Amsterdam last Monday my mind was busy with confusion. Was I returning to pain? Should I feel guilty about my time away? Was I needed by people at home? Was I missed? Was I being disrespectful by travelling so much or so soon? Had I been thinking of Liane enough? 

As soon as I got home it was clear that Dublin is special to me and there's nowhere else I'd rather live and/or be. The sea, the people, the house, the memories, the pain, the happiness. Everything is here and as much as it pains me so does it nourish me.  I'm looking forward to spending time here, at home, where I belong over the coming months. I need it to ground me and to centre me.