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Homeless by Choice

Photo credit: WikiCommons – Josh Lewis

Sometimes in life serendipitous things happen that leave you feeling like this is exactly where you’re supposed to be, right here, right now.

Such a time has come around again today. Maktub.

While on our trip across Canada by train we stumbled upon the Banff Mountain Film Festival.

I invite you to check out this trailer, which does a better job of describing it than I ever could. Really, it’s worth 7 minutes of you time.

While sitting in the audience of a sold-out theater watching mind-blowing footage of epic adventures worldwide, something unexpected happened, something the Film Festival didn’t intend either.
I was suddenly overcome with a feeling of belonging, the same feeling you get when you see the skyline of your home-town from a distance after being away for too long.

What is Home for a Travel Blogger?

If home really is where the heart is, then home for me is the road. Home is the journey. Home is the adventure. Home, most importantly is the community of people who’s lives revolve around journeying.

Allow me to digress for a bit.

My whole life I’ve had patriotism and nationalism shoved down my throat. The sense of belonging to a specific place is the societal norm, and the idea of not belonging to a place but rather to a community that is not caged by political lines is foreign to most, and for a while I didn’t know it as a possibility.
Even within the realm of travelers, one of the first ice-breaking questions inevitably revolve around where one’s FROM.

Where are you From?

I HATE that question. I’m not from anywhere. My heart belongs in no one politically-designated place, my heart belongs in every beautiful nook and cranny this earth has to offer. Heck, if space travel becomes possible in my lifetime, it might belong in any beautiful place in this galaxy. Yes, of course, I was born in a place, but I have no emotional attachment to that place, nor sense of nationalism, or patriotism. The same holds true for every place I’ve ever lived.

My lack of connectedness to all other human beings who define themselves as natives of their country ( I’m French, I’m Canadian, I’m American, I’m whatever) has not only been a personal battle in self acceptance, it’s also been an external battle in social acceptance, especially when crossing borders.

At this point a certain song comes to mind: “La Ballade Des Gens Qui Sont Nés Quelque Part” by George Brassens
A song I heard many a times while growing up and which you can listen to with english subtitles below.

It’s a little too…. well… aggressive for my taste, but is the closest description of the feeling I have as expressed by someone other than me.

End of digression.

Life Beyond Political Lines

The point is today it hit me, I don’t belong within political lines. I belong with this community of nomads who spend their lives traveling the earth trying to explore, enjoy, and share their adventures.

Mostly, I belong to the community of people who call the Earth their home (for lack of being able to visit any other planet) and do everything in their power to make sure it remains a suitable home for humankind to enjoy until the sun takes it all back.
“To reveal and protect our amazing planet”

Homeward Bound

I belong to a tribe who’s mission in life is to squeeze every last drop of life out of the time they were allotted.

My mission is to get home.

Even though it isn’t a specific location doesn’t mean I don’t have a long journey ahead of me in order to get there.

I’ve been away from home for a long time. My muscles are out of shape, my fascia’s tangled, my eyesight’s rusty when it comes to seeing magic, my mind needs pried open in some areas.
Let’s just say gears have been locking in place and it’s time to dust them off and oil them so they can get moving again. Getting home means working my body and mind until they reach their full potential and refining my skills as an adventure blogger. A documenter of all things amazing.

The first day of the film festival has been a been an inspiration (literally an inhalation, a breath, prana, the life-giving force,) a great reminder that I am not alone, we are out there.

It’s time to go home.

Where do you feel you belong? Where are you from?


  1. We meet in a rather conspicuous spot in a mountain village. Where the mountains still roar. The first thing that you told me was wow, you are tough for everyone else was running away from the rain, little do they know that the rain is what gives us life. This is a poem that really explains what you two are doing. Safe travels, and see you later;

    by Szymborska

    How leaky are the borders of man-made states!

    How many clouds float over them scot-free,

    how much desert sand sifts from country to country,

    how many mountain pebbles roll onto foreign turf

    in provocative leaps!

    Need I cite each and every bird as it flies,

    or alights, as now, on the lowered gate?

    Even if be a sparrow—its tail is abroad,

    thought its beak is still home. As if that weren’t enough—it keeps fidgeting!

    Out of countless insects I will single out the ant,

    who, between the guard’s left and right boots,

    feels unobliged to answer questions of origin and destination.

    If only this whole mess could be seen at once in detail

    on ever continent!

    Isn’t that a privet on the opposite bank

    smuggling its hundred-thousandth leaf across the river?

    Who else but the squid, brazenly long-armed,

    would violate the sacred territorial waters.?

    How can we speak of any semblance of order

    when we can’t rearrange the stars

    to know which one shines for whom?

    Not to mention the reprehensible spreading of fog!

    Or the dusting of the steppe over its entire range

    as though it weren’t split in two!

    Or voices carried over accommodating air waves:

    summoning squeals and suggestive gurgles!

    Only what’s human can be truly alien.

    The rest is mixed forest, undermining moles, and wind.

    1. Hey!

      What a thoughtful comment! Thank you so much for stopping by, for reading, and most of all for the lovely poem.

      Hope everything went well with the test.

      Keep in touch.


  2. My wife and I left our careers to travel a year ago and I have noticed a lack of belonging. I’m proud to be Canadian, but as I type this I’m entering a second month visiting my parents and my “home” feels awkward. I’m more comfortable in transit and feel more like I belong there than here.
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