I’m almost 28. I can safely boast I’ve lived and loved in 10 different crazy cities in this incredible world.
But today, after having visited 2 of those cities over the past month, ones I spent the majority of my life in, I realize I now consider Delhi my home.
When I land back on Indian soil, hit with the smells and sounds of Desi people, I feel this deep down bliss that whispers I’m home again.
The people I’ve lived and loved with in all the other cities continue to occupy large spaces in my heart. They fill me with hope for the future and pride in the past. But my heart is here, and my feet are planted.
For an adventurer, a traveler, a nomad, calling a place your home is no simple feat. It takes overcoming fears of comfort, stagnancy, and boredom. But now that I’ve stated it, now that I’ve said it out loud, it gives me solid ground upon which to jump into unknown territory.
This is the beauty of finding your home that I never knew before. I never allowed before. It scares me to think this might be the end of my adventures.
Then again, this could just be the beginning.