Good landings

My friend has a new sparkle in her eyes and her radiant energy is contagious. We are at Juan Valdez, the coffee shop at Guayaquil airport where we first met two years ago and as we lift our cups of tea to make a toast, my friend exclaims: "To good landings!" We burst out laughing at the way she says it, but the message is well received. What she means is, may you land softly. May the people that are waiting for you on the other side of the Atlantic take good care of you and nourish you back to health. May this next adventure you're about to embark upon bring you lots of happiness. 

Twelve hours later, I land smoothly in Madrid and shortly after, four people have already struck up a conversation with me. The taxi driver talks nonstop on the ride from the airport, telling me all about the ten years he spent in South America and how he would never go back. Madrid is the place to be, according to him. The hotel receptionist is also awfully chatty, circling all the things he thinks I should see on a map and recommending a tapas restaurant nearby where the waiters are as tall and good-looking as the food is tasty. (All true, by the way). At the table next to me is a Spanish couple with a baby who can't stop staring at this strange lady eating by herself. The parents and I talk for a while and they welcome me to their city with smiles as warm as the sun.

After lunch, I wander round for a couple of hours and despite my blond hair and the huge map that I'm dragging around, nobody "mistakes" me for a tourist. In fact, I get asked for directions at least five times, by Spaniards. Does that mean I fit in? Do I look like I belong? I'm not sure. 

The view from my hotel room in Madrid, Spain

Once I land in Helsinki, I'm greeted with big smiles and warm hugs from my dearest friends - the ones that I've had for twenty years without any conflict and drama, only laughter and unconditional support. I spend a few days with them before moving on to the town where my family lives. It's the end of August but the days are still sunny and bright and for someone who recently said a lot of goodbyes, each 'hello' and 'welcome back!' feels as nice as the Indian summer.

Despite the loving care from my family and friends, I feel like an alien for a couple of weeks. Everything is familiar and everyone looks the same, yet I can't shake the feeling of being different. I'm not the odd one out anymore, I'm one in the crowd but I'm lonely. I'm home but I feel homeless. I'm back where I started but more lost than ever. Until I find a yoga school nearby and finally land on my mat. After the first yoga class, my arthritic hand hurts so much that I cry for two days. Then I wipe the tears and go back. I adapt my practise and slowly, I start to flow.

Being back on my mat reminds me of who I used to be, but I still don't recognize the person that I see in the mirror. Therefore, I decide to do something more radical - I cut my hair. Most of it has fallen off due to stress and medication anyway, so instead of trying to cover up the bald spots, I choose to chop it all off. I can't watch as the hairdresser has her way with the scissors, so I keep my head down until the last of my blond strands have landed on the floor. Then, I look up and there I am. Still blond but with the shortest hair I've ever had. Still me, but also someone new.

One of my friends in Quito used to find it amusing that he could never quite predict what I was going to do or say. "You're such a wild card," he would chuckle, shaking his head. Since I've been home, I've come to think that maybe he was right. Not even I know where I'm going half the time. They say home is where the heart is but I no longer resonate with that saying - mine has been scattered in too many places in the world. Maybe home is simply where we are happy and at peace. I may not be fully there yet, but at least I'm back on dry land. I have landed and might even be ready for take-off to another destination soon.

I long, as does every human being, to be at home wherever I find myself. (Maya Angelou)

The view from my parent's home in Vaasa, Finland