What’s a place you visited that felt like home?
It was not a temple, a hotel, or a distant country. It was my car.Inside those four doors, I could finally be alone with myself. The road became quiet enough for my thoughts to surface. I would talk to myself, sometimes questioning what I had done, sometimes asking what could have been done better.
There was no audience to impress and no one telling me which direction to take. Just me, the steering wheel, the road ahead, and the thoughts moving through my mind.Perhaps home is not always a physical place. Sometimes, home is the space where you can sit with yourself without running away from yourself.
The car became that space for me—a small moving room where I could reflect, correct myself, and continue forward.
“Let a man lift himself by himself; let him not lower himself.” — Bhagavad Gita 6.5
Maybe that is why the road felt like home. I was not escaping from life. I was learning how to drive my own life.
