For much of our lives, home is something we think of as a place.
An address.
A familiar room.
The view outside a window.
The belongings we’ve gathered.
The people who live there with us.
But the older I become, the more I understand that home is also something we create within ourselves.
It is the feeling of being at ease in our own lives.
Of no longer needing to perform.
Of surrounding ourselves with people, practices and experiences that feel aligned with who we truly are.
And perhaps most importantly, of being able to sit quietly with ourselves and know:
I belong here.
Home Begins Within
Meditation has changed my understanding of home.
Each time I sit, I turn away for a little while from the noise of the outside world.
I breathe.
I listen.
I notice.
And underneath all the thoughts, plans and stories, there is something remarkably steady.
Presence.
Meditation has become a way of coming home to myself.
Not to some improved future version of me.
To the person who is already here.
That distinction matters.
Because The Art of Living Well is becoming less about creating the perfect life and more about inhabiting my actual life wholeheartedly.
Creating Space for What Matters
I’ve become increasingly drawn to simplicity.
Not deprivation.
Not austerity.
Clarity.
What deserves space in my home?
What deserves space on my calendar?
What deserves space in my mind?
And what deserves space in my heart?
The yogic principle of **aparigraha—non-grasping, non-clinging—**has become very practical for me.
We accumulate so much over a lifetime.
Possessions.
Obligations.
Identities.
Expectations.
Relationships.
Stories about who we used to be.
Sometimes creating a life that feels like home requires asking:
Does this still belong here?
There is freedom in discovering that the answer can be no.
Our Bodies Are Home Too
My exploration of Ayurveda, yoga and meditation has also reminded me of something easily overlooked:
This body is the first home I inhabit.
At 78, I don’t want to wage war against aging.
I want to listen to my body.
Nourish it.
Move it.
Rest it.
Respect its changing rhythms.
The late physician and neurologist Dr. David Simon taught an integrated understanding of well-being that brought together Western medicine with Ayurveda, meditation and mind-body wisdom.
That approach resonates deeply with me because healthy aging is about far more than adding years to life.
I want to bring life to my years.
I want vitality, certainly.
But also curiosity.
Connection.
Meaning.
Peace.
Joy.
Love.
And the freedom to continue becoming more fully myself.
Relationships Should Feel Like Home
I’ve also begun thinking differently about relationships.
The relationships I want in my life now are those in which I can exhale.
Friendships where there is reciprocity.
Conversations where there is curiosity.
Community where there is belonging.
Relationships where kindness and honesty can coexist.
And intimate love in which neither person has to disappear in order to be loved.
At this stage of my life, I am not interested in chasing connection.
I want to recognize it.
There is a difference.
The right relationships don’t require us to abandon ourselves.
They allow us to become more fully ourselves.
Perhaps that is one definition of love:
Two people who have learned to come home to themselves creating a place where each can remain whole.
Home Is Not the Same as Staying Put
There’s an interesting paradox in all of this.
A life that feels like home doesn’t mean nothing changes.
Quite the opposite.
Homes have seasons.
Lives do too.
People arrive.
People leave.
Children grow.
Relationships change.
Careers end.
New callings emerge.
Bodies age.
Priorities shift.
And sometimes the physical place we call home changes too.
Mindfulness teaches me that security cannot come from making everything remain the same.
Nothing does.
Instead, I am learning to create an inner steadiness that can travel with me.
Wherever I go, I take myself with me.
So I want the self I bring along to feel like someone I enjoy coming home to.
The Courage to Let Life Change
This website has unexpectedly reminded me of that.
What began as a frustrating problem became an invitation to look again at what I had created.
And as I revisited my earlier writing, I could see something clearly:
I have changed.
The earlier chapters weren’t wrong.
They were part of the journey.
But some of the language, identities and ideas that once represented me no longer fit.
So I am doing with my writing what I am learning to do with my life:
Keeping what is true.
Releasing what isn’t.
And making room for what wants to emerge.
That is not starting over.
It is coming home more deeply.
A Life That Feels Like Mine
I don’t know exactly what the coming years will bring.
There may be different homes.
New students.
New friendships.
Unexpected opportunities.
Travel.
Teaching.
More writing.
More learning.
Perhaps a beloved with whom to share part of the journey.
I welcome all of it.
But I don’t want to spend my present life waiting for the next chapter to begin.
This is the chapter.
This morning.
This body.
This home.
These relationships.
This work.
This breath.
This life.
And so I keep asking myself a very simple question:
Does the life I am creating feel like home?
More and more, the answer is yes.
Not because everything is finished.
Not because I know what comes next.
But because I am learning that home isn’t something I finally arrive at.
Home is what happens when I live in alignment with who I am.
And wherever life takes me next, that is the home I intend to carry with me.
With love,
Sandi
