Somewhere around the same time I sat just some fifty meters away on the waterfront. I was enjoying the movement of the light on the water when a similar feeling caught me. I felt at home being alone in the city doing exactly what I needed to do and enjoying it too. It turned out to be perfectly possible without warm weather, in spring, in between meetings, creating a bubble in space and time that I could call home.
Is it enough to go out anywhere and meditate on solitude? I am afraid not. These feelings were tied to a certain place on a day that I was preparing my next nomadic adventure. It was part of a plan to craft myself a place on this earth. Now that I am without my own house for almost a year, there is a toll to be paid. I am so happy to have lived for five months with my friends in Zaltbommel, but I miss home. Not because I need my own stuff – I hardly seem to care for the things in my room in Zaltbommel – but because I crave a sound proof place where I am king. A place where I can stand-up and stretch my arms up and sideways as far as I can. Where I can walk around naked and belch and fart and laugh too loud. Where I am shamelessly touched by an emotional film and let myself cry without thinking about the effect on whatever company. Where I can only break my own plates and follow my rules for hanging up toilet paper. That kind of home.
I do want a place that is mine. Twice as long, a little wider and fifty percent higher than I am. In between trees. I want my own schaftkeet and convert it. I can already see it in mind before I go to sleep. I would like to buy one this year and insulate it pretty well.