I used to think of home as the place that raised me or the city that held my longest chapter.
But returning has taught me something different. Home is not where I have spent the most time. It is where my body settles without explanation.
New Mexico does that to me. The bluest skies I have ever known. Air so clear it feels intentional. Mountains that hold the horizon steady rather than pressing in. Seasonal changes that arrive with definition rather than blur.
Breathing there feels honest. Walking feels proportional. Time stretches just enough to allow thought to arrive before it is interrupted.
Houston has shaped me in profound ways. It taught endurance. It taught adaptation. It taught how to keep moving through heat, density, and constant motion. But it never felt like home in my body.
New Mexico does. Walking with Artemis there, I feel something align that I did not realize had been out of place. Her pace changes. Her attention widens. She moves with confidence rather than vigilance. And walking beside her, I recognize something familiar. The ground feels like recognition rather than effort. The air invites breath rather than resistance. The landscape allows stillness without asking for justification.
Returning home, I thought I was tracing origins. What I found instead was orientation. New Mexico feels closer to my roots than any place I have lived as an adult. Not because I grew up there. Because it mirrors the values I have come back to through years of work, walking, and attention.
Clarity. Space. Pace. Care.
Walking with Artemis has been a quiet practice of return. Not to a childhood place, but to a way of being that feels grounded and honest. Even briefly, that return matters. It reminds me that home is not always where you started. Sometimes it is where you finally recognize yourself. And sometimes, walking is how you find your way back.
