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“It’s like coming home after a long trip. That’s what love is like. It’s like coming home.” – Unknown via @Persia_Lawson

When I was younger, I spent around 70% of my waking hours with horses.

My best friend Salena’s parent’s happened to own the stables around the corner from where my family lived, and right by where both Salena and I went to school.

Delightfully, the stables was also a mere ten minutes by horse from London’s largest green space – Richmond Park, which was created in the 17th Century by Charles I when he moved his court to Richmond Palace to escape an outbreak of the plague in London.

The most anticipated part of any of our rides out in the park was braving ‘Ham Straight’, a long stretch of gently sloping sand-track that served as the perfect runway for a hearty gallop.

And gallop we pretty much always did, for turning left on to Ham Straight meant that we were on our way back to the stables, and the horses knew it.

Their ears would prick up, their eyes would widen, and we’d feel a sudden surge of electric energy generating beneath us as one by one, our noble steeds would tuck in their hindquarters to ready themselves for an almighty race back home.

Though it could often be scary, it was the most exhilarating part of any ride.

A few days ago, I found myself experiencing this same phenomenon whilst horseback-riding with friends through the Costa Rican jungle.

After a two hour adventure (which included swinging through the trees on a homemade Tarzan swing, nearly stepping on a tiny but deadly sleeping snake and diving off a small cliff in to a bright blue river), our guide took us down a long, gently sloping stretch of track that led straight back to the stables.

I knew what would ensue the moment we turned the horses back around to face in the direction of their lodgings.

And, strangely, I didn’t feel an ounce of fear or apprehension as I tended to whenever we turned left up Ham Straight; I just felt sublimely eager and honoured to get to be a part of my horse’s excitement to return home.

It’s a feeling I’ve become familiar with myself over the last few years of being in a relationship with Joe.

Growing up, home was more a place I associated with wanting to run from than towards.

Now, though, it’s taken on a new meaning and essence altogether.

It’s not so much the physical place I’m excited to return to after a trip away, but the person who has slowly come to represent the safety and sanctuary of ‘home’ to me.

So, if there’s one thing I wish for your romantic future, it’s that both you and your partner are always as excited to return home as the horses are.


Can you relate to the idea of ‘home’ being more a person/ people than a place?

I’d love to hear about any experiences you’ve had around feeling excited or anxious about reuniting with a partner – share with me in the comments below <3

All my love,

Persia xxx