The Power of Coming Home

Recurring dreams about my childhood home cause me to return to the oak-studded property, and investigate those simple, fantastic things that, once-upon-a-time, had brought me endless joy. (Psssst… This was a letter to my email community. Want to join and get the next one? Click here!)

Two years ago, I started having recurring dreams about my childhood home. I was living halfway across the world from the oak-studded property. Afternoons spent in my neighbor’s treehouse, making bike ramps with my three siblings, and carrying my favorite chicken around the yard felt so far away. Yet the dreams were vivid; the feelings of missing something, palpable.

Last week my fiancé Darcy and I happened to be in the Santa Cruz area. I asked if we could drive the windy 10 minutes into the hills, where my parents – then in their 20’s – had built a house with their own hands. One that went from blue, to yellow (the way I always remember it), to taupe… following the seasons of our family.

I didn’t know what I was hoping for with that short visit. But as we sat at the bottom of the driveway looking up at the bay windows, the hill my brother accidentally lit on fire, the biggest rope-swing-tree, and the overgrown trail once used between the Clark’s house and ours, something inside me cracked. And the sap that leaked through only wanted one thing: to do those simple and fantastic things that brought me joy as a kid.

I wanted to hang out in those trees. Ride horses. Wear hats (worn every picture day… and most days in between). And write in my red spiral-bound journal.

And as we drove away, I wanted to do all the other things so much less. Less people pleasing, less shrinking and ruminating. Less of the revered busyness, the ‘shoulds’, the wasted screen time, and empty dreaming. Instead, I wanted to run, climb, put on boots, braid a thoroughbred’s tail, and then sneak away to write, while wearing a denim hat with a big sunflower.

And so? That’s what I’ve been doing. In the last week, I’ve written morning pages. I’ve worn a purple felt hat with overalls and boots. I’ve found a local barn and gushed over their horses. And I’ve gone for a solo hike, where I sat and watched light filter through wintry oaks.

I haven’t had a dream about that house in the last week… a dream about the freedom of just being me. I’d like to think it’s because I’m choosing to live it. And it’s been a long freakin’ time.

I hope you’re taking some time – out of the noise, the hustle and even the inspiration – to honor who you are outside of it all. Keep inviting the joyous ‘you’ back into your life. The world needs more of it. The world needs more ‘you’.