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Holy doodles. I am so happy to be back in Aotearoa, land of the long white cloud. I didn’t realize (that’s a lie, yes I did) how much my heart missed this beautiful country that has managed to capture my little heart and squeeze it tight. It makes me want to cry thinking about my younger self and the momentous adventure it was for me to move down here at 25 with only a loose connection to a potential job and housing situation. That leap of faith led me to the most incredible experience and has introduced me to some of the greatest and fastest friends in my life.

Some places just have the power to do that. They grab you and stuff you full of moments and experiences and relationships that open your eyes. Not everything has been positive here, for sure, but I wouldn’t have wanted that. I’ve had car troubles. Heartbreak. Visa sadness. Awkward living situations. All of the things. But I’ve grown so much from those moments and I cherish everything that younger me went through.

Aw, my heart. My big beating heart. I have this weird thought that keeps bouncing around inside my brain. How can one person hold so many “homes” in her heart? There are so many places I want to be all at once. So many people I want sitting next to me on the couch that all live in different corners of the world. Do you think I’ve created more trouble for myself by traveling so much throughout my 20s? Would it have been easier to pick a spot, get a job, and move there and build myself a nice sense of community? That’s always what I’ve been lacking, and I’ve filled that void with travel. Not entirely healthy, for my emotional wellbeing or the planet, but also not toxic. I go back and forth with this so much.

A year or two ago my friend Fi shared this poem with me by Don Blanding called “The Double Life.” It makes my heart sing and feel so seen.

How very simple life would be
If only there were two of me
A Restless Me to drift and roam
A Quiet Me to stay at home.
A Searching One to find his fill
Of varied skies and newfound thrill
While sane and homely things are done
By the domestic Other One.

And that's just where the trouble lies;
There is a Restless Me that cries
For chancy risks and changing scene,
For arctic blue and tropic green,
For deserts with their mystic spell,
For lusty fun and raising Hell,

But shackled to that Restless Me
My Other Self rebelliously
Resists the frantic urge to move.
It seeks the old familiar groove
That habits make. It finds content
With hearth and home — dear prisonment,
With candlelight and well-loved books
And treasured loot in dusty nooks,

With puttering and garden things
And dreaming while a cricket sings
And all the while the Restless One
Insists on more exciting fun,
It wants to go with every tide,
No matter where…just for the ride.
Like yowling cats the two selves brawl
Until I have no peace at all.

One eye turns to the forward track,
The other eye looks sadly back.
I'm getting wall-eyed from the strain,
(It's tough to have an idle brain)
But One says "Stay" and One says "Go"
And One says "Yes," and One says "No,"
And One Self wants a home and wife
And One Self craves the drifter's life.

The Restless Fellow always wins
I wish my folks had made me twins.

I just want to nest, but I just want to travel, but I just want to stay and focus on my PhD, but I just want to keep experiencing new things because life experience is what makes me who I am and widens my perspective on everything.

Xo, Lozza