Being The Answer For Yourself

This morning, I pulled over on the side of a dirt road —
just to find quiet and calm that was all my own.

And a question came through me:

Do you ever feel like you are still in search of your place of belonging?

I’ve lived a life that, from the outside, looks free.

From the moment I got my first car, I was gone —
concerts, festivals, camping, road trips…
chasing the feeling of being wide open and alive.

And then life shifted.

I became a mother to five children,
and while that season asked me to root in different ways,
I still carried that same spirit —
bringing adventure, movement, and life into everything we did.

And when the time came, I moved again —
traveling the world for work,
living out of a suitcase,
untethered once more.

Experiencing firsthand just how dynamic this human life really is.

There is a kind of freedom in being the gypsy —
when nothing ties you down,
when the world feels like it’s yours to move through.

And I’ve loved that part of my life.

But I remember watching Chocolat.

The mother and her daughter in the film were gypsies —
wanderers by nature, moving from place to place,
carrying their way of life in their bloodline.

That part always spoke to me.

Because in many ways… it speaks to mine.

If you trace it back, the Shawnee were often labeled by history
as the “gypsy wanderers” among the tribes —
moving more fluidly than others,
never meant to be confined to one place for too long.

There is a rhythm to that kind of life.
A knowing.
A freedom.

But in the film, when she tries to root —
to build something, a chocolate shop, a life —
the town resists her.

They don’t want her there.
They try, in subtle and not-so-subtle ways, to push her out.

And then one day…

A group of gypsies arrive by river.

With their laughter.
Their music.
Their aliveness.

And she brings her daughter down to meet them.

And for that moment —
standing there, in the presence of people who lived like she did,
who moved like she did,
who understood without explanation —

they all felt it.

That quiet exhale.

To be accepted.
To be held.
To belong.

Even if only for a moment.

Because even a gypsy…
even someone who knows how to move, adapt, and live untethered —

still longs, at times,
to feel like they belong somewhere too.

And it’s not wrong to want that.

To want somewhere you can exhale.
Somewhere you no longer have to adjust, perform, or prove.

To want to land —
even if only for a moment.

But everything has to start within.

Because belonging is not something we arrive to —
it is something we stop leaving.

And that’s where the practice begins.

Not in searching for where we are wanted…
but in noticing where we are leaving.

The subtle moments.
The quiet compromises.
The times we override what we feel
just to maintain connection.

And sometimes, even when we’re no longer in those places —
when relationships have shifted,
living situations have changed,
and the structures we once relied on have fallen away —

there is a kind of dust that settles after the storm.

An in-between space.

And suddenly…

the gypsy doesn’t feel free.

She feels unanchored.
Restless.
Even… contained by what once felt familiar.

I know that feeling.

The difference between choosing the open road
and feeling like you have nowhere else to land.

And that’s exactly where I found myself this morning —

Pulled over on the side of a dirt road,
not searching for anything outside of me…
just trying to find a moment of quiet and calm that was my own.

And that question returned:

Do you ever feel like you are still in search of your place of belonging?

Because even when we recognize that unanchored feeling —
when the dust is still settling from transition and transformation —

we still need something to root into.

Not out there.

But here.

Within ourselves.

And that’s when the truth returns:

I am where I belong.

Not because everything around me is certain.
Not because I’ve found the perfect place or person.

But because I stopped leaving myself.

It doesn’t take away the feeling
of outgrowing spaces that once felt like home.

It doesn’t bypass the ache
of relationships that no longer hold you the same way.

It doesn’t erase the weight of transition.

But it brings you back to the one place
that was never meant to be conditional.

And when we begin to stay —
to remain with ourselves, even in moments of uncertainty —
something shifts.

We stop searching for permission to exist as we are.

And when we do…
belonging is no longer something fragile.

It is no longer dependent on anything outside of us.

We begin to recognize it as something rooted —
something that moves with us, rather than something we chase.

Just like nature never questions where it belongs.

The tree does not ask the forest if it is worthy of standing.
The ocean does not ask the shore if it is allowed to return.

They exist as they are —
fully, unapologetically, in rhythm with themselves.

And when I got back…
I sat down to finish a few final edits on my book.

I found myself in a section called The Practice of Belonging —
reading my own lived experience back to myself.

And I had to smile.

Because just moments before, I had thought to look outward —
for a meditation, a reflection, something to soothe me,
steady me, bring me back into focus.

And instead…

It was me.
Sitting in front of my own words.
Within a body of work that called me back home.

And maybe that’s what I want to leave you with today:

A gentle reminder to see the beauty you carry.

You are your answer.

Even on the days you don’t feel like you are.
Even in the moments you feel unsettled, in-between, or unsure.

You are not lacking anything.

You are everything you need.
Absolutely everything.

And as for the book…

It’s been a wild and beautiful season —
of publishing conversations, contract negotiations,
refinement, expansion, and returning deeper into my own work.

And I can’t wait to share it with you all.

Ashe,

Your “Gypsy” Wahine of the Sun ;)