It Was Never About the Place

A reflection on memory, grief… and the journey home.

Have you ever carried a place that once meant everything… and it just feels.. different?

The streets are the same. The buildings haven’t changed.

Not because the land changed. The land remembers.

But something inside you has changed.

Awakened. Shifted. Softened.

Maybe it’s what made it feel like home… isn’t there anymore.

So we chase something new.

A fresh start.

A different city. A brighter life.

But in reality… we’re chasing a feeling.

A past version of life that felt softer, warmer… less heavy.

Sometimes you don’t even realize it until you’ve already packed and unpacked the kitchen three times in the same city, and you’re standing in the middle of it.

Still trying to get back to something you can’t even name anymore.

Have you ever returned to your hometown or community, full of excitement to see familiar faces. Or maybe some curiousity on how things have (or haven’t) changed?

And maybe, just maybe… there’s a tightness in your chest as you get closer and closer to what was once “home”.

Emotions are heavy.

You’re overwhelmed with anxiety… fear… a quiet ache rises in your throat. worry.

Then you arrive… and it just never quite feels the same as it once did.

You look around.

The streets haven’t changed. The buildings are still standing the same way they once did.

The signs are hanging in the same windows.

Maybe even the same people are still in the same places you’ve always known them to be.

The same coffee group meeting at the local diner every morning that used to know you as your grandparents grandchild.

Yet somehow.. it all feels different.

Off.

Quiet.

Quiet in a way it never used to be.

Is it the place that changed… or is it me?

If you know me on a personal level, you know that the dream I’ve had since before I could even drive. To leave what was once “home”, andgo to the place that felt more like home.

The place where everything always made sense, even when nothing else did.

I thought if I could just leave the city I grew up in, I’d finally feel free.

More connected to myself.

Closer to something that felt sacred.

I have always had this pull toward this northern community.

Not for its size or opportunity.

But for what it held.

A new, bigger, brighter life I envisioned for my children and I.

I thought it would bring me peace.

Looking back now… I wasn’t chasing a place.

I was chasing a feeling.

A memory.

A version of life that felt warmer. Safer. More whole.

I was longing for the feeling of home.

Of safety. Of connection. Of love.

Not a big house.

Not a bigger bank account.

Not a postal code…

But the way it used to feel to be surrounded by people who made the world make sense.

In many traditional teachings, home isn’t just where you live.

It’s where your spirit feels anchored.

Where your soul can stretch out and breathe.

It’s where you’re in a relationship.

With the land, with the people, with your ancestors… with yourself.

And when we lose someone who was home to us…

When the people who carried that grounding, that love, that safety… Are no longer here…

We don’t just lose them.

We lose the version of home we felt with them.

We ache to feel that again.

So we go back to the places that used to hold it.

We try to find it in the landscape.

In the routines.

In the air… the fimiliarity.

But it’s not the same.

Because the spirit of what once was… has shifted.

And grief has a harsh way of making even the most familiar places feel hollow.

What I’ve learned… and maybe you’ve felt it too..

It was never about the place.

It was about what that place held.

Who was there.

How you felt in their presence.

The laughter.

The inside jokes.

The meals shared around kitchen tables.

The laughter and tears on the long drives to get there.

The prayers whispered under your breath to live there someday.

While under your grandmothers breath, she prays we make it there safely.

The way time didn’t feel heavy back then.

The way love and life felt simple.

Even when it wasn’t.

That’s what we’re really trying to get back to.

Not the place.

The feeling.

The belonging.

The spirit of home.

In many traditional teachings, we’re told that home lives in relationship.

It’s not built with walls.

It’s built with hearts.

With stories.

With land that remembers your footsteps… and spirit that remembers your name.

And sometimes when those pieces fall away..

When the people are no longer with us,

When the old way of life no longer fits..

We feel lost.

Untethered.

Like we don’t know where to go next.

But there is a sense of peace in remembering… knowing… feeling that home can be rebuilt.

Maybe not the same way it was before.

Maybe it won’t ever look like it used to.

But the feeling of home…

The warmth, the connection, the grounding..

That can still exist.

It can live in new people.

The relationships we create and put time, effort and love into.

In the circles we build.

In the quiet rituals that hold us through hard seasons.

In the way we care for one another.

In the way we allow others to care for us.

In how we carry our memories forward. With gentleness, with tenderness… with pride.

Home is the smell of sweetgrass.

The sound of drums in the distance.

The laugh of a cousin… or a friend you haven’t seen in years.

The hug of someone who doesn’t need you to explain your grief.

It’s knowing you can carry both pain and joy.

That even while you’re still healing… you can still find and deserve happiness.

You’re allowed to miss what was.

You’re allowed to grieve the version of life that made you feel safe.

You’re allowed to speak the memories and names of what you’ve lost.

Out loud.

But you’re also allowed to begin again.

To bring your ancestors with you. In your heart. In your breath.

To hold your memories close.

To protect them.

To share them with your children, your circle, your community.

Not in a way to stay stuck… but in a way to stay connected.

Because home isn’t just behind you..

It’s not lost.

It’s changing.

And it’s still yours to create. 

One step at a time. 

One moment of courage. 

One prayer, one sunrise, one circle. 

One deep breath at a time. 

So maybe this isn’t just a return. Maybe it’s a beginning.

A quiet decision to create home again. Not only from what you’ve lost…

But from what you still carry.

From the love that you still have, and have now.

From the people you hold close.

From the parts of you that are still healing, still growing, still choosing to believe it’s possible.

Because home isn’t just a place you remember.

It’s something you get to build.

Slowly, softly…

Wherever your spirit feels safe enough to land.