Life Here and Now - A Reflection on What is Home

I have just landed in Bali after several months of travelling. I left the white winter land of Sweden, with its massive snowdrifts, minus fifteen degrees and Christmas celebrations with my family. After that came a month in northern India, staying at an Ayurvedic centre during the local winter season - without central heating. The frozen feeling begins to fade as soon as the familiar humid heat touches my face on the airport apron. I am back.

From the backseat of the air-conditioned taxi, the well-known landscape passes by; the heavy traffic, countless motorbikes, the stone-carved Balinese houses, temples and statues draped in yellow and black and white checkered fabrics, dogs and chickens sleeping on

or crossing the streets, frangipani trees and bougainvillea in vivid shades of cerise and orange. The pungent smell of burned garbage mingles with strong incense. Not exactly pleasant, yet I can feel it through my whole being: I am home.

That was almost two years ago, and since then, I have hardly left Bali. Before my travels, I had a feeling that I was done with the island. After more than five years, it seemed life here had come full circle - been there, done that - and I was ready for something new. So I bought a one-way ticket to Sweden. Not really because I planned to return and stay, but because it felt like a doorway opening to new and unknown directions.

Returning to Sweden was truly amazing. Arriving in the early summer season with budding greenery, blooming lilacs and bird cherry trees, crisp air and nights that never quite turned dark. I cherished it all - especially the heartfelt reunions with my siblings and their families and with dear friends I hadn’t seen for so long. Every place I visited felt wonderful, from our off-the-grid mountain cottage to the vibrant city life of Stockholm, where I had lived for thirty-five years. All this had been my home for sixty years - and of course, it still is, and always will be, one of my greatest homes.

The sense of homecoming has touched me in several places I’ve travelled to over the years. Like a wave of warm inner peace, or a déjà vu from another lifetime. I always feel it in Provence, in the south of France, among the lavender fields, olive groves and the beautiful melody of the French language. I felt it again when I first met the gaze of the Sphinx, pulling back the curtains of my homestay window in Giza. And after several weeks in Peru, I cried like a baby at the airport when the shamans bid us farewell, playing their drums and flutes. My first brief encounter with Bali was lovely, however it wasn’t quite love at first sight, but I knew deep inside that I would return soon. And so I did - again and again - until, with each revisit, I realised more and more that I wanted to settle down here.

When we experience that inner feeling of homecoming, it doesn’t necessarily mean we want to move there or live in that place or situation. But it does show that it’s a spot that makes our hearts sing. A place we feel deeply connected to, one we will always want to return to, and perhaps someday will.

I used to be, and still believe I partly am, a rather restless soul who needs a great deal of variety. I’ve moved around a lot, both in Sweden and during my years in Bali. The concept of petsitting suited me perfectly - it gave me the chance to explore different parts of the island and stay in homes far more fancy and luxurious than I could ever afford myself. I adapted easily to each new house and its furry residents; within a few days I would feel comfortably settled. I could also accept when it was time to leave, without strong feelings of separation and it was seldom hard to say goodbye. The worst part though was always the packing: gathering my belongings, moving out, repacking in my storage room and preparing again for the next petsit adventure.

The saying “Home is where I hang my hat” resonates deeply with me. The idea that home is more a state of mind, a feeling of belonging, than a fixed location. Yet for me, this lifestyle was also about avoiding getting stuck. And perhaps about not wanting to miss an opportunity that might have been even better.

However, after several years of a full-on nomadic lifestyle - changing houses and beds hundreds of times in Bali, Sweden and across Europe - I began to feel a strong urge to settle down for a longer period. Then, almost a year ago, the opportunity arose to rent a small one-bedroom bungalow within a guesthouse. It wasn’t a fancy place at all, but the location was good and it fit my budget perfectly. And the very first time I visited, I felt that familiar sense of homecoming.

The feeling of unpacking my few but cherished belongings, which had been stored away in containers for several years, was deeply satisfying. I bought a few new things, like a Turkish rug and a painting, and decorated the house in simple ways, adding my own personal touch. In hindsight, it was the best decision I’ve made in years. Only now can I admit to myself how challenging that longed-for variety had actually been.

We all have different needs for safety, security and stability in life. I’ve realised that, for me, it’s important to know I always have a physical home or place to return to. A space where I feel peaceful and harmonious, where my inspiration and creativity can thrive. This current home suits me perfectly right now. I still have the freedom to leave anytime, as I pay month by month. The landlord’s family is warm and caring, I have lovely long-term neighbours, yet still enjoy my privacy. And, as the cherry on the cake, a very special kitty has more or less moved in, enriching my days and nights. Her cat mama and sister drop by now and then too, whenever they want a little food or a cuddle.

Only the stars know how long I’ll stay here - or in Bali. For now, I try to live as much as possible in the here and now, without planting my roots too deep. New changes will come for sure, and when they do, I’ll welcome them with open arms - the day I feel the calling or something else or somewhere new to call my home. That is the beauty of the freedom I’ve created for myself.

What is home for you?

Is it a physical place - or a deeper kind of inner homecoming?

Are you where your heart feels at home - or are you still longing for another way of

belongings?

With Peace,

Agneta