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First of all, I had a truly wonderful time in England. No regrets, no bad memories, even though I was rained out one day and had a close encounter with mud on another. Little graces along the way--a topic for probably Tuesday's post. The point is, this was a good journey, one I planned and saved for and built up courage for and followed through on.

And came home from. I did return home, and when it was time to return, that's what I wanted to do. I had feared, just a bit, that some little gap or wound in my soul would find its answer or comfort off in England--in the beauty and quiet and fields, pathways, horses, cows, sheep, dogs, birds. What if I didn't want to leave? What if my personal sorrows wanted to stay for awhile and find their solace? What if I would desire to walk to a certain tea shop every day for the next five years, just to have tea and scones and sit in the quiet and talk with myself? What if that unfinished part of me, that unspoken-to part, would determine to make a new place and nurture a new ritual?

I am determined, now, to find a recipe for true English scones because I've not had anything here in the USA quite like the mile-high crusty wonders that call over to the little dishes of clotted cream and jam, saying, "Here I am!" I will find that recipe. I might even learn to make clotted cream, although this would work against my labors three afternoons a week at Southport Fitness. Still, for a rainy day or a sad afternoon . . .

I am determined to walk more here at home, now that it's clear that a few more miles of movement each day will not tear apart my arthritic joints. There's our glorious 18-mile lakefront. There are neighborhoods and bike/walking paths, parks and preserves. I'll make better use of them, and probably will bring my husband along.

It's good to be home. I brought England's weather with me, and the rainy week has turned our yard and garden spot into near jungle. I've walked in the rain to work, not minding it so much now that I have walked miles in downpour in a country where that is not considered an odd thing, just something you must do on some days. I sit on the back yard swing and enjoy the begonias and dalias and impatiens--their vivid blotches of color against the stone tile and foliage of many greens. I have returned to a place that I already loved, and so I love it still.

The stories we hear--or see in movie form--about people going off to find themselves, traveling in search of love and meaning, trouble me. It took me a few decades, but I understand that, at least for myself, purpose and happiness originate in my interior world. Other people and places cannot give me what I do not already experience. I could go on this journey and love the going because the home had already been built in soul and psyche. If I was content on the journey, it was mainly because the contentment had already developed in my thoughts and spiritual habits. If I was resourceful while walking, and able to solve problems and get lost and found again, I owed that grace to the habits that have been years in development--habits of hope, creativity, calm, and openness.

I highly recommend a walking trip, if you enjoy walking and would like a little adventure. But if you are desperate to find something that will change your life, I might recommend instead that you stay home and learn how to love home and uncover your true self in today's hours. And then in tomorrow's. The hardest work we do is the interior journey. It requires so much energy and courage and time that sometimes it is best done standing completely still.