How lovely! Every time I’ve written on Substack about how I dread leaving home, I’m amazed by the grace and healing and community that I’ve found in the responses from people. Thank you, and wishing you all the joys of home wherever you are.
I love hearing that, Priya! I'm so glad Substack has been such a place of support and community for you, and that sense of amazement you mentioned is exactly what I felt last week, reading your beautiful comment along with the others :) They meant so much, and please know I'm wishing you joy and peace as well 🤍
I really resonate with Priya's words. I have struggled to know where is 'home' at times. It was a lightbulb moment to realise home can be an internal place as well as an external place 😊
Yes! That shift from an external to an internal sense of home is so huge -- I can definitely remember when that light bulb began to go off for me as well. Thanks so much for sharing that, Vicki, and again, for your words of wisdom last week 🤍
I loved "little bits of pollen and dust and fingerprints from faraway places." The idea of notating where and when you brought a certain book into your life is stellar. A very different kind of autobiography or scrapbook.
Love this. We are in the middle of a move after living here for three decades. It’s nearly impossible to imagine how we will manage to find community again. I don’t know how I can hold both grief and excitement in my heart.
Thank you so much for sharing that, Julie -- and it sounds as though we are on very similar journeys at the moment! Though I can only imagine how uprooted you must be feeling after three decades in your home. Please know I'll be thinking of you as you begin the process of planting new roots and building a new community 🤍
Ah, I love all of these wise and comforting words. Congratulations on your new home! (Just went back and caught up on your essay about your move.) What better way to start off in a new place than by knowing that being there is filling a lifelong dream.
"What better way to start off in a new place than by knowing that being there is filling a lifelong dream."
I just love how you put that, Sarah, and I'm definitely going to share that with Jose :) Thanks so much for that beautiful thought, and I'm so glad you enjoyed this post, too!
Thanks for sharing all of these lovely words 😍 as someone from Ireland who moved to Belgium a decade ago (how has it been so long??)... I wish you all the best ♥️
Ohh thanks so much for saying hello, Jessica, and for your kind words :) It's wonderful to hear you made the same move, and that you've called Belgium home for so long! May I ask where in the country you live? 🤍
Mike, as always, you are the best! Since basically day one, you have helped shape Dandelion Seeds in the biggest way, and for that, I will be forever grateful 😭🙏🙏
Jul 19, 2023·edited Jul 19, 2023Liked by Candace Rose Rardon
There was a time when I lived a hard dichotomy: in the morning, when I took stock of the troubles I knew I must face during the day, I felt an overwhelming need to leave Africa and go to the place in the mountain valley by the river that never stopped being home. By evening as I returned to my African home, where the sweet murmur of village life, the fragrant smoke of the cooking fires, the chance sighting of creatures, wild and beautiful, and the glory of another too short sunset made me realize I could never leave Africa. She stole my heart.
But a time did come when I left her, even when I knew it would be harder to leave than to stay, for all the reasons we are pulled, resisting, from place to place. I came to accept the wisdom of Robert Louis Stevenson's Requiem:
Switter, as always, every detail you share paints such a picture, and I especially loved phrases like "the sweet murmur of village life." I've definitely felt that dichotomy you mentioned as well (though I'm sure only a fraction of the extent to which you experienced it), so what you shared here really resonated with me -- thank you 🙏
I mentioned to someone the other day how your stories help me to remember the good things, the wonderful things and the beautiful things I experienced over the years, and I practice focusing on them and letting them be the leitmotif of my life. Trauma is like accidentally looking at the sun and being blinded to everything else, but eventually our minds regain the ability to see other things again. Those of us who were blinded so get a chance, if we choose, to see the world new again.
re: fresh paint to chase away cockroaches. Another thing I learned when staying in, um, rustic accommodations is to not sleep too near a wall, because rats tend to travel in those areas. Some people seem less bothered by rat traffic than others. YMMV.
How lovely! Every time I’ve written on Substack about how I dread leaving home, I’m amazed by the grace and healing and community that I’ve found in the responses from people. Thank you, and wishing you all the joys of home wherever you are.
I love hearing that, Priya! I'm so glad Substack has been such a place of support and community for you, and that sense of amazement you mentioned is exactly what I felt last week, reading your beautiful comment along with the others :) They meant so much, and please know I'm wishing you joy and peace as well 🤍
I really resonate with Priya's words. I have struggled to know where is 'home' at times. It was a lightbulb moment to realise home can be an internal place as well as an external place 😊
Yes! That shift from an external to an internal sense of home is so huge -- I can definitely remember when that light bulb began to go off for me as well. Thanks so much for sharing that, Vicki, and again, for your words of wisdom last week 🤍
I loved "little bits of pollen and dust and fingerprints from faraway places." The idea of notating where and when you brought a certain book into your life is stellar. A very different kind of autobiography or scrapbook.
Yes! That line immediately jumped out at me as well ✨ I'm so glad it spoke to you too, Sue.
Love this. We are in the middle of a move after living here for three decades. It’s nearly impossible to imagine how we will manage to find community again. I don’t know how I can hold both grief and excitement in my heart.
Thank you so much for sharing that, Julie -- and it sounds as though we are on very similar journeys at the moment! Though I can only imagine how uprooted you must be feeling after three decades in your home. Please know I'll be thinking of you as you begin the process of planting new roots and building a new community 🤍
Thank you! And you as well. 🥰
Ah, I love all of these wise and comforting words. Congratulations on your new home! (Just went back and caught up on your essay about your move.) What better way to start off in a new place than by knowing that being there is filling a lifelong dream.
"What better way to start off in a new place than by knowing that being there is filling a lifelong dream."
I just love how you put that, Sarah, and I'm definitely going to share that with Jose :) Thanks so much for that beautiful thought, and I'm so glad you enjoyed this post, too!
Thanks for sharing all of these lovely words 😍 as someone from Ireland who moved to Belgium a decade ago (how has it been so long??)... I wish you all the best ♥️
Ohh thanks so much for saying hello, Jessica, and for your kind words :) It's wonderful to hear you made the same move, and that you've called Belgium home for so long! May I ask where in the country you live? 🤍
I came back here after a few days, expecting this post to have gone bananas with Likes and comments.
I was not disappointed.
(Same way that everyone else wasn't, in fact.)
Mike, as always, you are the best! Since basically day one, you have helped shape Dandelion Seeds in the biggest way, and for that, I will be forever grateful 😭🙏🙏
The nostalgia settles upon my shoulders like a well loved blanket, warm and comforting.
Such beautiful words!
There was a time when I lived a hard dichotomy: in the morning, when I took stock of the troubles I knew I must face during the day, I felt an overwhelming need to leave Africa and go to the place in the mountain valley by the river that never stopped being home. By evening as I returned to my African home, where the sweet murmur of village life, the fragrant smoke of the cooking fires, the chance sighting of creatures, wild and beautiful, and the glory of another too short sunset made me realize I could never leave Africa. She stole my heart.
But a time did come when I left her, even when I knew it would be harder to leave than to stay, for all the reasons we are pulled, resisting, from place to place. I came to accept the wisdom of Robert Louis Stevenson's Requiem:
Under the wide and starry sky,
Dig the grave and let me lie.
Glad did I live and gladly die,
And I laid me down with a will.
This be the verse you grave for me:
Here he lies where he longed to be;
Home is the sailor, home from sea,
And the hunter home from the hill.
Switter, as always, every detail you share paints such a picture, and I especially loved phrases like "the sweet murmur of village life." I've definitely felt that dichotomy you mentioned as well (though I'm sure only a fraction of the extent to which you experienced it), so what you shared here really resonated with me -- thank you 🙏
I mentioned to someone the other day how your stories help me to remember the good things, the wonderful things and the beautiful things I experienced over the years, and I practice focusing on them and letting them be the leitmotif of my life. Trauma is like accidentally looking at the sun and being blinded to everything else, but eventually our minds regain the ability to see other things again. Those of us who were blinded so get a chance, if we choose, to see the world new again.
re: fresh paint to chase away cockroaches. Another thing I learned when staying in, um, rustic accommodations is to not sleep too near a wall, because rats tend to travel in those areas. Some people seem less bothered by rat traffic than others. YMMV.
What a beautiful capture! And the photo too. 🥰
Thank you so much, Claire! 🤍
Thank you for sharing your readers touching comments.
Reading your pieces is like home to me - comforting!