I’ve always known who I was, but I’ve never known where I belonged.
And because that’s such a fundamental human craving, because the longing for belonging is a such huge part of what it means to be alive, when you don’t feel like you belong, you always feel like a piece of your life is missing.
Like an asterisk, there’s always this subtle undercurrent of notenoughness that gnaws at your heart and clogs your full capacity for living.
Until we find home.
Not where we live, but where we’re understood.
And right away, our soul opens up.
Because when we finally discover the person or the people or the community that gets us, that yesses us, that embraces the weirdness we have to offer, and that actually makes us feel normal for once in our goddamn life, we can finally stop wondering if there are any other people in the world like us.
There is no exhale more satisfying.