There comes a moment when the frantic rhythm of constant doing, striving, chasing or even just catching up begins to fade. It doesn’t happen overnight, and it isn’t the result of some grand epiphany. It is a gentle, undeniable recognition that you no longer need to keep things alive through sheer force of will. You simply arrive.
This is what it feels like to be home. I don’t refer to a house of walls and doors, though those may exist, but the home of being fully present in your own life, in a place where you no longer feel the need to push against time. You notice the spaces between tasks, the stillness between breaths. There’s no longer a compulsion to fill every moment, no need to manufacture energy or force connection. Life is allowed to exist as it is, and you can simply exist alongside it.
Here I feel compelled to point out the existential difference between being home and coming home. Coming home is finite. It implies a departure, a return to somewhere you left, a temporary reprieve from the outside world. Being home, by contrast, is not bound to place or time. It is carried within you, a quiet state of presence and grounding that travels wherever you go. It is not something you arrive at; it is something you inhabit, always available, always yours.
In relationships, this homecoming is palpable. It is in the moments when words flow naturally, when silences are comfortable rather than fraught, when laughter comes without effort. It is a discovery that love does not need to be chased or maintained with constant vigilance, it can simply be. And in that being, it deepens effortlessly, rooted in trust rather than performance.
Life itself feels different. The rat race slows to a gentle stroll, and you begin to savour what was once overlooked: the subtle light at dusk, the taste of a morning coffee, the quiet intimacy of someone who knows you fully. Time stretches, but not in the anxious way of waiting; it stretches in gratitude, in presence, in the ease of knowing that you are finally allowed to simply be.
Being home is not about perfection or security in the external world. It is about a recognition that you are where you are meant to be, and that rushing, forcing, or holding on is no longer necessary. You have arrived, not to a destination, but to a state of grace: a place where life is no longer a series of tasks to survive, but moments to inhabit fully.
And in that inhabiting, there is peace. And there is time, slow, unhurried, and entirely yours.
FrogDiva Thoughts 