It’s Wednesday (I think) and we’re still in Kyoto. As we fly home on Friday we are also in a place between here and there. Here, being an island in the Pacific Ocean. And there being an island in the Atlantic Ocean. This happens at the tail end of every journey away but I don’t usually notice it. This time I’m noticing. And the reason I am noticing… Japan is so different to Ireland yet today I forgot I was in a strange land. It didn’t feel strange. It felt normal. That’s odd.

Maybe it’s because I went to a vegan cafe that could have been in Greystones. The big window looked out onto the water (a river granted, but it could have been the sea) and you could see mountains in the distance. A flock of white birds, geese-sized flew past. I ate avocado toast and drank an americano and heard languages from behind the counter that were not Japanese, not English, not Irish, just like I would at home. I wrote down everything that was in my head with a pen on paper and felt at home.

At home is a mass of things I can’t list. Things fuzed into me I can only recognise in hindsight or by writing “everything that it’s not” down. It’s not… what I like, what I hate, what I want to buy, what I have to do, what I want to do, what I want to give up, what I’m not good at, what I did wrong, what I did right, what I forgot to do, what I should have done, what I should do now, what I need to learn, what I’m bad at learning. It’s not, what I forgot to be grateful for. But these things get in the way of feeling at home.

In these past weeks I have seen enough wondrous sights, bought enough stationery, eaten enough food, walked enough steps, ridden enough trains, learned (just) enough Japanese, written enough blogs, posted enough postcards, sent enough birthday greetings, made enough phone calls. There is nothing more I need/want/have to do. I can be at home now. Right now. Here.

But already I’m trying to imagine what it would be like to be at home even when I hadn’t done enough. Stop. Now. I am telling you (myself) you have a unique opportunity at the tail end of this journey, with everything done enough, to be at home. Take it.

The list I can’t list… when I see patterns in fabric, wool, needles, colour, wood, metal, stone, ceramics. When I sense a connection with another human by expression, word, emotion. When I wake up in the night and it’s at least 5am. When I contribute and then walk away. When I get excited by a “great” idea (if I remember I don’t have to bring it to fruition.)

When I sit in silence with someone even if they are silent too. When I spend time on my own. When I create. When a thought works itself into a sentence and then a paragraph. When something comes to an end.

I feel at home.