The Reluctant Homebody

If you haven’t already read between the lines, let me say it clear and loud. I don’t really want to be a homebody. Every time I complain about being forced to go out, it’s a farce. I’m actually glad to go out, even though the process of going out and being-with-other-human-beings-who-are-not-on-television is a point of considerable stress for me. I imagine I’m too fat, that I’m uninteresting, that I’m uninformed and that people are inviting me out of pity. Naturally, this points to my own natural sense of low self esteem. Therefore, I’m a BAD homebody. The kind who should be sent to stand in a corner and face the wall.

Which begs the point: are there good homebodies? Absolutely. I am inspired by a friend who took a sabbatical for a year to re-group her priorities, values and spirit. She spent this year mostly exploring the inner recesses of her mind – i.e. meditating, doing yoga, gardening, reading, writing and literally just contemplating the truths of the universe. I’m sure she ventured out and met with a select few people through this course of twelve months. But she lived in herself, with herself. And now she’s coming out of it with a fresh outlook on society, behavior and morality and sharing her brilliant insights with the world on her own blog. She’s the real deal. She comes up with these sayings that I think are from the internet but are actually her own. Such as: "Righteousness is often deep envy in disguise."Doesn't that make you shudder?

Case in point: she opted to be homebody and benefitted by relinquishing, voluntarily, the rigmarole of life and then reaching a point of centered-ness. She made a change, inside-out.

So what’s the difference between a good homebody and a bad homebody, you ask? I answer you: state of mind. My friend opted to be a homebody. I became a homebody automatically, primarily because it’s in my family’s script to be homebound. I woke up and suddenly realized I had become me, primarily because I was hedged in by fears, insecurity and also many, many bad hair days.

The problem with my lifestyle is that it doesn’t reflect the true me. I belong on the dance floor. I belong on the stage. My soul is a grinning woman wearing red lipstick and black leather pants riding a Harley Davidson across the desert, with the sun in my face and the wind in my hair. It’s me snorkeling along the Great Barrier Reef. It’s me belly dancing in Rio, meditating on the hilltops of Sri Lanka. I’m a traveler, explorer, talker, discoverer, uninhibited inside. But on the outside, I’m homebody.

So where does that leave me now? Well, right now it leaves me here, in front of my laptop, writing to you.

But it leaves me in a position to change all this. I will start by taking small baby steps. And hopefully, you’ll be there to read my journey and cheer me on when I crawl back into bed, discouraged.

Fasten your seat belts! It’s going to be a bumpy ride! Well, at least I hope so, anyway.