I’ll never forget standing on top of a cliff in the Isle of Skye, a place I had dreamed of for years, a place that, even in the heart of winter, felt otherworldly to me. And it was right when I was staring at the sea that an invisible force hit me with all its power. It was wild, ferocious, alive. Its strength was so immense that I couldn’t walk, I had to dig my heels into the ground and lean against it with every bit of myself, to avoid being swept away. It demanded all my attention and presence.
That was the first time I truly experienced the wind.
I never stay in one country for more than three months because I’m interested in seeing. If I stay longer, I become blind.
- Josef Koudelka
Koudelka’s words resonate deeply with me. How often do we stop truly noticing the places we live in, simply because they become familiar?
And I believe it’s tied to the way we associate names with things quite rapidly, or at least, that’s what I’ve observed during my longer stays in various places.
The first walks in a new country, city, neighborhood, or park, feel like pure magic. Everything is a discovery: getting lost in the streets, tasting unfamiliar foods, noticing how people speak and wear, and appreciating the scent of the place. But with time, that stunning dress becomes just a label, that buzzing road turns into an ordinary street leading to a destination, and the once-adored food becomes a name tied to a familiar flavor.
And the hardest part becomes seeing those things with fresh eyes again.
There’s a little exercise I like to do when I feel this “blindness” approaching: forget what I know.
Exercise: Forget What You Know
Take a flower, for instance. You likely pass one every day, unless you live in the desert, in which case, I deeply respect your choice, but you can still get the example.
For a moment, forget everything you know about that flower. Forget that it’s a seed that sprouted, that it grew from the soil, that it has a name, a species, a function. Let go of its assigned place in the world.
Now, look at it as if it’s the first thing you’ve ever seen. Imagine you’re born today and you’re opening your eyes for the first time, and there it is: this intricate creation, coming out of nowhere. Notice the shape of its petals, the veins running through them, its colors, its scent. Let yourself wonder at the miracle that something so delicate and precise exists at all.
Touch it. Feel it. Spend a moment with it. Talk to it if you want.
At its core, Project Home is about understanding how we create a sense of belonging, wherever we are. And rediscovery is a big part of that.
We’re born with this gift of not knowing.
As kids, we live in a state of perpetual discovery because everything is new. But as we grow, we start naming, categorizing, giving a place to things around us, and slowly losing the magic of discovering.
You might live like Koudelka, wandering the world every few months, or you might stay rooted in one place your whole life. Both, and all the middle options, have their beauty. But in all of this, no matter where you are, don’t lose the joy of discovery.
Cultivate it. Practice it. Even if it makes you seem a little weird, talking to flowers or listening to the wind. I’m with you.
Until text one,
Much love.
F
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