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The journey is home

For much of my life I thought that home would be found in the right place, with the right people, the right work, the right politics, the right spiritual practice, the right relationship, at the right time.

From an early age, after growing up in Los Angeles, I took to the road, traveling, working, studying, living—in Europe, the east and west coasts of the U.S., in various parts of the country, and of Vietnam, courtesy of the U.S. Army. After more than a year living and working in Central America, I stayed put for the longest spell in the Hudson River Valley of New York—long enough to raise three kids and carve out full professional and creative lives. Two years ago, kids grown, and with a surprise offer of a new life on the west coast, where it all began, I moved to Olympia.

Now, having settled in, I expected to be settled down, home in every sense of the word. But since arriving here, I’ve found inexhaustible chal- lenges, discoveries, experiences, wonders, follies, new directions to ex- plore, new paths to take. This reality, of life with its endless, unpredict- able variables, has made me rethink my ideas about home being a fixed abode. For some professional wisdom on the matter, I offer the words of Matsuo Basho, Japan’s greatest haiku poet, from his revered travel journal, Narrow Road to the Deep North: “The moon and sun are eternal travelers. Even the years wander on…every day is a journey, and the journey itself is home.”

— J O’B

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