resound: to become filled with sound (reverberate)
It was by going away that I was able to feel most at home this year. Multiple forms of transportation and a near missed connection eventually deposited me at a farm located in Vermont. My suitcase was filled with casual clothes, a journal, a few pens and a camera. My mind was occupied with questions.
I was asked to turn my cell phone off (and you can read about that particular challenge here) and introduced to a small group of other travelers from around the country.
My home away from home was this tent in the woods on a hill.
For one week, I listened and engaged in the most truthful and soulful dialogue I’ve ever experienced with men and women whose names and stories were previously unknown to me.
For one week, I practiced silence and carved wood.
For one week, I didn’t change a diaper. For one week, I didn’t fix a bottle or settle an argument. And for one week, I had no one’s hands to hold except my own.
When I returned home by taxi to our purple house in North Portland, my sleepy husband greeted me with a huge hug, lifting my feet off the floor. My dog was ecstatic to see me, wagging his tail, a weapon that crashes into toddler faces and knocks wine glasses off coffee tables if you’re not careful. My children were sleeping and the dishes were washed. The hardwood floors felt smooth beneath my feet. Old, yet shiny, they, too, welcomed me home.
On this gentle and warm August night, I felt so much at home I almost couldn’t stand it.
Thank you Knoll Farm. Thank you for allowing me to go away, and thank you for encouraging me to return.
Prompted by #Resound11: When did you feel most at home this year: in your life, in your space, in your career, in your skin? Read more about #Resound11 here.