You Can Always Come Home

Our family home was on River Road, a corner lot with a gravel,  semicircular driveway in the front of the home.    You could see visitors come and go when standing on the front porch or sidewalk. 

I went to college four days after graduating high school.  I completed my first four years of college within three by going year-round.  I did not live at home again.  I was a short-term visitor during the two-to-three week breaks between quarterly sessions.  Sometimes traveling to and from school with my older brother or with friends, and then driving myself when I got my first car… a 1964 Rambler. 

During these years my dad would come out of the house to greet me and he would come out to the car when I was leaving.  There were hugs and kisses.  And then his last words were, “You can always come home.”  His words echoed as I left home and drove out the driveway onto River Road.  This tradition continued when Bobby and I would visit.  As we were leaving, he’d say to both of us, “You can always come home.” 

My Dad’s words come to mind and heart often.  They are a source of comfort.  Over the years, his words have evolved into a personal mantra to support my yoga practices whether it’s my home on the mat, home with my breath, or being centered and present within my heart, my true essence, my home within.

“You can always come home,” reminds me to get on my mat when I’m just too busy or tired. It reminds me to breathe when I have forgotten to breathe. It encourages me to sit in stillness when I need to be still.  It grounds me, bringing me home to that place within that knows, clarifies, simplifies, and recognizes it is all right.

You can always come home.

A hOMe tree