Since I can remember I always felt an outsider, a person who never found her own place in life, in the world, a place to belong to. Even among people I had a lot of in common with I always felt as if that place was not exactly for me.
And because that has happened for 47 years, I kind of get used to it. Because you do. It felt like that not belonging was where I belonged to.
That unbelonging feeling eventually got homy even. And it brought some advantages along. You become really good transiting anywhere you go, regardless.
You can feel comfortable in the most uncomfortable places/situations. And they will never be an obstacle.
It makes you add different worlds to your own little lonely bubble, if you let it be.
And I did.
You become comfortable under your own skin, thin or thick.
Just once in my life I had that a-ha I belong here moment. It was last year, during one of my Kundalini classes in New York City, more precisely at Kundalini Yoga East. I had been taking classes there almost daily for a little over a month or so and out of nowhere it hit me: this is where I belong. I felt so good going there, practicing Kundalini with those strangers that were not that strangers after class since we got to chat over our Yogi teas. And it was a homy, heartwarming moment to say the least, I must confess. It brought some tears to that practice.
It felt good.
But no longer necessary. Because the place I do belong is right here, anywhere I go, inside me, wherever I am. That is home and always will be. My only true home.
At least in this life time…
Fab After 47 