Some people spend their lives building permanence. Others accidentally train themselves to leave.

I left London at eighteen for the Himalayas long before phones tracked us or the internet curated reality. Since then I’ve moved through very different worlds — fashion sets and remote villages, luxury hotels and temporary shelters, campaign shoots and humanitarian work.

Somewhere along the way my idea of home dissolved.

Because maybe home isn’t geography at all. Maybe it’s the feeling your nervous system returns to when the world goes quiet. Maybe it’s movement. Ritual. Familiar energy. The people who remember old versions of you.

The more the world opens up, the harder it becomes to fit back into one fixed identity. Airports calm me. Transit comforts me. Reinvention became normal.

And maybe once the world has made you bigger, you never fully belong to one place again.