Today, we talk of topography.
The landscape of the heart.
“To do something of your own you’ve got to forget what you’ve learned. And once you begin forgetting, you’re bound to find something…else.” Marcel Duchamp
[No. 7]
WHEN YOU THINK ABOUT HOME, WHAT DO YOU SEE IN YOUR INNER LANDSCAPE? WHAT DOES IT LOOK AND FEEL LIKE?
We are forever at home and always tethered to something grand. We forget. When we remember, we pray to our sense of self. We vibrate with the potentiality of all that we are. Kevin Walton, a theorist and friend of mine, fosters us to reason, “I exist, therefore I matter.” There shines a gold mine within each of us.
We are matter, and we matter.
This body houses tenderness and fire. I feel a bubbling inside of all that I am and all that I want to be. Warm blankets and bonfires. When I remember that I am my own terra firma, I feel a sense of peace. A cup of mint tea with a side of prosecco after a cold dip in icy waters, this cocktail of energies drinks me up.
In the immortal words of iconic queer theorist José Esteban Muñoz, the patron saint of inner landscapes, “Silver clouds, swirls of camouflage, mirrors, a stack of white sheets of paper, and painted flowers are passports allowing us entry to a utopian path, a route that should lead us to heaven or, better yet, to something just like it.”
The path to heaven starts with self.
[No. 8]
IS THE GEOGRAPHY OF LOVE AND BELONGING A LANDSCAPE THAT CAN BE MAPPED? OR IS IT A DISCOVERED TERRITORY THAT CAN ONLY BE ASSIGNED LANGUAGE ONCE IT IS EXPLORED, LIVED, INHABITED?
Or, as we used to wonder in high schools and self-help aisles, before we can be loved must we love ourselves? Does love ask us to discover who we are before determining what we want? Which came first, the chicken or the egg?
As I find my way to sustainable embodiment, I map out new frontiers with my own north star as compass. A strong sense of internal orientation allows for relational exploration—near and afar—that feels steady and reliable.
“Our emotions are as good of a compass as we are self-aware.”
Logan Gelbrich
The truth is that however bravely, I chart my terrain with intentionality, forever funneling my emotions through a reflective gristmill. When I connect to my core [my own heart space], I feel safe to open to the kismet and unscripted beauty that comes forth when we love, when we trust, when we live unapologetically. The destination may be unknown, yet I can move forth with faith in my ability to take care of myself along the way.
Image by Armin Rimoldi
In other words, a clear idea of who we are and how we want to be loved supports us in identifying where and how this is echoed back to us with others. Without some clarity of our own–words to live by, the elements can certainly be disorienting and at times, quite harsh. I have felt my loneliest awake at night next to a warm body in bed after a strained, “I love you.”
We want to hold and be held as we travel. Thus, we learn to love others without losing ourselves. We discover new vocabulary and explore new lands while carrying home with us wherever we wander. It does not hurt to draw a map. Even with a map in hand, you can still wander. But you feel whimsical and adventurous, instead of lost.
[No. 9]
WHERE DO YOU FIND A TRUE FEELING OR SENSE OF BELONGING NOW?
I can trace my finger over my growth as a person over the years with this question. For years, I oriented my sense of belonging to something external. The job. The marriage. The house. The gender identity. The sexual orientation. I see how [perhaps unconsciously] I sought to save my marriage by growing my hair long and wearing flowery frocks and heeled clogs, striving to present as the [WIFE]. Similarly, I likely chose the juiciest breast implants possible after my double mastectomy after internalizing that “This is what men like.” Core values of self were hushed while I oriented to ever-evolving, internalized beliefs that were often not really, deeply mine. [Do I even like men?] This constellation offered a known framework for life–a feigned sense of direction. I felt like a stranger in my own life.
“We are used to cleaning the outside house, but the most important house to clean is yourself – your own house.”
Marina Abramovic
After years of seeking out there, the result was, well, unpredictable [unstable, precarious]. A rocky road for the nervous system—lots of starting and stopping, loud honking, many dead ends. A series of misaligned choices— and a few unexpected traumatic events— beckoned me to consider a different way. Not this. Not this. I then started to literally and figuratively clean house in order to find a more consistent and accurate frame of reference for my choices. At first unsure of what this looked or felt like, I ultimately retrained myself to believe in meditation, writing, breath work, yoga, walking, therapy, etc. It was slow at first. I remembered to listen, to be still, to trust. I re-learned to sit with, be curious about, find home in, belong to myself. The more I did this, the more I suddenly clicked with people that felt like my people. In a sea of small talk at my cousin’s Christmas party in her windowed living room in Montecito, California, I struck up a conversation by the piano with a stranger who is now chosen family. I still remember the backless dress I wore as we spoke candidly about surgeries, scars and all else over crudité. I felt this same resonance just the other night around my kitchen table with two new friends, a couple, who met me in the meadow of eye to eye resuscitation. I gave up the macro notion of [belonging] as such, for micro moments of bliss in my cells. Home, Here, Now. We see, and we are seen. A seemingly endless string of ephemeral moments that make up one whole life. 
Still, I get there by listening to my inner voice, by honoring what feels real and good to me, by trusting my own GPS. My intuition is my first point of contact, my project manager, my forever friend. I can confidently say I have my back, and that is a treasured state, a country to which I pledge allegiance. I will travel the world, I will hold hands and sail boats and touch skies, knowing that there is a motherland in my heart to which I endlessly, tenderly belong.