‘Welcome home!'

Those were the words I heard as I pulled onto my driveway after a weekend away.

No, not a greeting from my husband or a friendly neighbour. I was alone in the car and nobody else was about.

A song had been playing - it came to an end just as I stopped the car. There was a moment of silence and then, clear as day, I heard the words, 'Welcome home!'

Apart from the fact I had literally just arrived home, this was particularly pertinent timing because I'd spent the previous twenty minutes pondering on this notion of 'home' and where 'home' is for me.

Some of you will know that, almost two years ago, my family and I left our much-loved family home in Norfolk, moving 330 miles across the country to start again in Devon. It wasn’t exactly a planned move - and it was a challenging and emotional time for us all. In fact, it’s taken much of the past few years to recover – or at least to feel the grief lessen enough to accept what’s happened.

Since our initial move to Devon, we’ve moved a second time and are currently staying temporarily in a house that’s on the market and could be sold at any moment. It’s a beautiful location and we feel very lucky to be living here, but there’s a constant sense of being in limbo as we don’t know how long we’ll be here, nor where we’ll go next.

What’s more, our belongings are still in storage in various places: some in the loft, some with my parents and other, larger items, in a storage unit back Norfolk. It’s been so long now we can’t really remember what’s where – I guess when we’re eventually reunited with our ‘stuff’, we’ll find we no longer need or want much of it! But we miss those items that are personal: the pictures, the ornaments, the ‘treasures’ we’ve accumulated over our life together that made our house feel like our home.

This lack of a permanent residence and the separation from our belongings have contributed to a sense of ‘unsettlement’ that’s made it hard for us to fully ‘land’ in Devon. I guess it’s hardly surprising that over the past few years, we’ve doubted our decision, wondered if we’ve made a mistake – and had many conversations about moving back to Norfolk.

But despite the doubts, the questionings, the multitude of ‘good’ reasons as to why we should pack up again and hightail it back East - through it all, my inner voice has been telling me, ‘Stay’.

Indeed, it was that same inner voice that drew us to Devon in the first place. I’ve wanted to live in this beautiful county for over thirty years. I can’t fully explain why but, from the first time I visited here, many years ago, I felt a connection – something within me that said, ‘You belong here.’

Yes, it’s the land, the stunning scenery, the light, the energy, the people - but it’s also something more than that; something deeper and more profound – something I can’t fully articulate – an inner knowing that this is where I need to be right now.

All the time we were in Norfolk, although I loved it dearly, there was a persistent whisper, some kind of invisible force pulling me Westwards.  I continued to ignore it, but it grew increasingly insistent, and I knew that if I didn’t answer its call, I’d never feel fully at peace.

I believe that when we have this kind of calling – whether it’s a call to move home, to travel, to change job or to exit a relationship - if we don’t answer it, it just keeps coming back louder and louder until we either respond or are forced to act in some way.

For me, the universe played a final and irrefutable card when, almost overnight, we lost our business – our sole income - and had no choice but to sell our family home. The only other option being to default on our mortgage and have our home repossessed.

A painful blow - but mixed with some relief since we managed to sell our house in record time, leaving us with some money to live off and a sudden opportunity to start afresh, to have a new adventure, to answer that call.

Although the thought of leaving everything familiar to start again in a new place, with no family or friends close by, was daunting and some might say, ‘illogical’, that pull was strong enough to override the fear, the doubt and the one hundred ‘good’ reasons not to go.

Through it all, my inner voice called louder than before.  I knew it was ‘now or never’.

Fast forward to the present day and, in the minutes prior to my ‘Welcome home’ moment, I’d been driving back along the coast – a now familiar route that is stunningly beautiful and never fails to grasp my breath. A welcome sight, and yet one from which I’ve felt somehow disconnected, as though passing through - a holidaymaker visiting on borrowed time. Not yet daring to believe that we are here to stay and not allowing myself to fully accept that this is our home.

But this time, as I let out that involuntary gasp at the beauty of it all, I felt a sense of peace, an inner calm, a certainty I’ve not felt in over two years. I knew that something had shifted. And, as I pulled onto the driveway, I said to myself, ‘I’m home. This is my home. And I am happy to be here.’

And, just as those thoughts passed through my mind, I heard the words, ‘Welcome home.’

I don't know what the song was. I’ve replayed my playlist, fast forwarding each song to the end and I haven’t been able to find it. Was it a coincidence? A sign from the angels? The voice of God?

Whatever that voice was, the message has been received loud and clear! I’m finally ready to let go of the past, to accept what’s happened and to move on. I’m ready to embrace this place and all that it has to offer, right here, right now, as my home.