I spend a lot of time laying on the floor and staring at the ceiling.
And as a dancer I think it makes sense – the floor is where I feel most comfortable. But lately, I’ve been thinking more about the ceiling and what it is about looking up that just feels so right. So peaceful. So, I don’t know … like home no matter where I go.
I’ve spent a lot of my time moving around. Letting go of the things that I once loved and finding new things to be excited about. Interested in. Lately though, I’ve been feeling like I’ve been moving back into old skins. Shedding brand new personas in favor of the ones that fit me best. Maybe it comes with time? Or maybe it’s an age thing. I’m 28 now and it doesn’t feel like I’m hitting 30. It just feels so far past where it was that I assumed being “grown” would be. Don’t get me wrong. I do definitely feel like a grown up. Yet, I also feel like I’m still on the path searching for direction. Moving to places that are unfamiliar in order to find old familiarities.
Which is ironic. Because why in the world would that make sense? My life has consisted of doing the things that I care about. Doing the things that most feel like me. Finding my niche in the broader sense of society where everyone seems to be searching. Looking. Constantly. In the grand scheme of things I am happy with where I have ended up. Where I am in this very moment, place in time …
Nevertheless, I can’t help but wonder who it is that I’m looking for up there.
Where it is up there that I will find rest – home.