Location: On board a long haul flight; Point of origin: Perth; destination: London
I have been flying this route basically my whole life, yet the cloud formations and the way the world looks so small – like a mega-legoland city – are yet to lose their alluring sense of wonder.
Every time I flying this distance of thousands of miles, I stare at the clouds and the mountains and the oceans and the city lights, trying to figure out whether my home lies at my point of origin or my destination.
I am starting to think home can not be found in just one place..
Home is curling up on the sofa with my dog, sitting round the red checkered table with furniture which has travelled on ships backwards and forwards across the wide expanses of ocean which separates the two countries I possess a passport for. Home is swimming at my local beach, and having my barista know my coffee order.
Your childhood home, where you started school and learnt to read, and started to become your own distinct person is also a place you will feel drawn to by a sense of nostalgic yearning, a home sickness if you like for simpler days. My inner child will always feel at home amongst the bluebells of the Downs or in the Guildford castle grounds.
Home is also found up in the clouds, and on airport floors. Long haul plane flights, are that kind of limbo between places, and have also felt like a sort of home for me.
It is strange to travel by yourself, with no-one to lean on. I am in my own little bubble, cooconed in an airline blanket alternating between hiding from the world under my eye mask, and gazing out at the clouds from my window seat.
I think the truth is, I will always be a drifter and a dreamer – wanting to meet new people, go to new places, experience new cultures and rituals, even if it involves being all alone. Of course when I am on the road, I always miss the people and every day habits which are home to me, but home is also where you feel most content, and for me, contentment may be found 39,000 feet up in the air, with a window seat and an impeding adventure.
authors note – i found these words scrawled in barely legible handwriting in my travel journal from a trip i took by myself aged 18, and thought i would share.