I Choose Me: The Power of Coming Home
I’ve been living in my truck camper for nearly two and a half months now, with a couple more still ahead before I return to my home in Arizona. But lately, I’ve found myself asking a deeper question—not just “where will I go next?” but “what kind of experience am I truly seeking?” And even more importantly… “where is home, really?”
For those who live a nomadic life, home becomes a fluid concept. It’s wherever you are. Which means the most essential skill you can cultivate is learning to be deeply at home with yourself. This summer has been less about escape and more about truth. Less about scenery and more about soul. I’ve had to get honest with myself—not just about where I want to go, but why I’m going in the first place.
Escaping the heat of Arizona has never been enough. Intention matters. What are we moving toward, not just away from? We don’t set powerful intentions based on what we’re trying to avoid. We set them from the place of what our soul is ready to experience. And right now, mine is ready for a deeper sense of connection—connection with the earth, with people, and with myself.
There’s a freedom in this wandering. But there’s also a mirror. I see the places I visit and often think, “Wouldn’t it be beautiful to live here?” But then I move on, only to think the same thing in the next town. And at some point, I began questioning that voice. Because no matter where I go, I never truly settle. Even my house in Arizona doesn’t feel like “home” anymore. It’s just a place where my belongings are stored. But home—real home—is something else entirely.
Home is a return to the self. To the heart. To that quiet, sacred space inside that is always with me but often goes ignored. We say “home is where the heart is,” but what if our heart isn’t fully present in the moment? What if we’re dragging it behind us, burdened with old stories and unmet expectations?
I’ve discovered that my heart longs for freedom—not just the freedom to roam, but the freedom to be myself, fully and unapologetically. To be in relationships without being owned. To love without attachment. To share space with another soul without being expected to carry their pain, meet their needs, or mold myself into something more palatable.
So many relationships fail because we’re not actually relating to the person in front of us. We’re relating to our projections. Our wounds. Our past. We put people in boxes and ask them to conform to an image that soothes our insecurities. And that’s never going to lead to deep, true connection.
That’s why the most important relationship is the one we have with ourselves. When you get that right—when you meet your own needs, process your own emotions, and claim your own value—you stop looking to others to do it for you. You stop needing someone to complete you. Instead, you start seeking those rare souls who can simply walk beside you in their own wholeness.
This isn’t always easy to find. In fact, I’ve noticed how many people, as they age, end up alone. Some by choice. Others by default. But I’ve come to see there are really two types of people: those who’ve done the inner work and found peace in their own company, and those who are still clinging to distraction, addiction, and fantasy to avoid themselves. When you’ve done the work, you simply can’t go back. You can’t tolerate shallowness, blame, or projection. You can’t allow yourself to be pulled into someone else’s chaos just to avoid your own solitude.
I’ve walked alone for a long time because I choose me. And I will keep choosing me—every time a situation, a person, or a path asks me to abandon myself in order to belong. That is not the kind of belonging I want.
But even with all this clarity, I’ve found myself wondering about my value in this world. Things have changed. The world has changed. The algorithms have changed. I’m not as “seen” as I once was. And that has been a hard truth to sit with. There’s a voice in me that says, “Does anything I do even matter anymore?” But I’ve come to the only answer that feels real: I do it because it’s who I am. I speak. I write. I share. Not for applause. Not for validation. But because I’m walking in truth, and this is how I walk.
I’ve surrendered the old striving. I’ve had long talks with God about this. I’ve placed my well-being in divine hands. And still, the message is clear: Keep going. Keep speaking. Keep shining. Whether you are heard by many or few, your light matters.
Healing, as I once understood it, meant years of work. Deep dives into trauma. Peeling back the layers. But now I see it differently. True healing doesn’t take years. It takes a shift in perception. It’s not about fixing what’s broken—it’s about seeing that you were never broken to begin with.
We don’t need to “heal” the belief that we’re unlovable. We need to deprogram it. We need to call out the lie and replace it with the truth—again and again—until our nervous system, our heart, and our mind all come into alignment with who we really are.
That’s what I’ve done. That’s what I’m still doing. Not perfectly. Not always gracefully. But honestly.
I am no longer here to convince others of my worth. I’m no longer available for projections or blame. I will not dim my light so someone else can feel powerful. I will not betray myself to soothe another person’s discomfort. I am not lonely. I am in sacred solitude. And when I do reach out, it is not out of need—it is out of love.
This is what it means to come home. Not to a place, but to a presence. To stand in your truth and say, “This is who I am. I choose me.”