I could sit here for hours and talk about New Zealand. I could try to put into words and write a million blog posts about it but there’s nothing, absolutely nothing that I will ever be able to do to explain how I felt when I was there.
It’s been almost a year since I’ve returned (after only being there for a month). I’ve been to at least 3 different countries since then and my heart is still there… in those mountains, with those incredible people.
I tried to describe it to a friend today and the words that came out were something like:
“Never in my entire life I felt so grounded, so happy.
Not the kind of happiness you get when you eat chocolate, but the kind of happiness you get when you feel at home. It’s not the euphoric kind of happiness but instead it’s the kind of happiness you know has taken a long time to build and you know you’ll have to keep working on it…but you’re ok with that. Because it makes sense. It all made sense in New Zealand. The peaceful feeling. The air. The nature. And the people, all the people. The Maori, the Kiwis, the travellers…it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered and everything mattered.
I left behind a little bit of my heart and a little bit of my soul and I just don’t know when I’ll be able to go back … to be whole again.”