i always pictured myself towards the end of my days in a remote lighthouse somewhere. someone rowing supplies over periodically, where i could rock in my rocking chair, watch the waves and read.
where you live, who you live with, the stability you find in your *home*, is a big facet of control, i think. *where* i am in this world has a direct connection to *how* and *who* i am, as well.
i wasn't recognizing the huge-ness of that.
if i am a slave, i have no right to call a home my own. how's that for a think thunk.
photo credit to jen lemen from flickr series titled "letting go"
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