I’m in Miami for a Winter break to get some sunshine-infused perspective. And I’m remembering that one of the most frustrating things that can happen when I travel is I forget what the hell I’m working on.
Sure, I look at my to-do list: people to contact, guides to create, website updates to finish, creative projects to make headway on. But, for several days after landing in a new space, I’m in this numb fog and I can’t *feel* what any of it means.
It’s like none of it drops in, like there’s a protective netting between the to-dos and the heartspace—a spider’s web trapping the wings of unhatched ideas.
And so, I play. I wander. I try to ease the frustration and resistance I feel to work. And then I remember—before I can drop in, I need to cultivate a sense of home.
I need to know the environment around me: what it whispers, how its light dances, what it aches for, what arouses it at night. I need to know the space my body takes up, in order to feel safer creating space inside myself to grow and nurture my work.
And so, I explore.