Something Nubian

Some memories don’t announce themselves as life-changing.

They just sit quietly in the backseat until you’re grown enough to recognize them.

After my parents divorced—over 40 years ago—my father received his next assignment. Before the new chapter fully unfolded, my brothers and I took a road trip with him to New York in his new car. I don’t remember every mile or conversation, but I do remember one house.

It wasn’t just big.
It was intentional.

In the front yard sat what looked like a tiny replica of the home itself—a small water well or playhouse, perfectly placed, like a miniature promise. I didn’t have language for it then, but something clicked. That was the day I fell in love with big houses. 🏘️
Not because of luxury.
But because of possibility.
That house represented space. Safety. Continuity. A sense that someone planned to stay awhile. And even as a child navigating the aftershocks of divorce, my spirit clocked that vision and said, I want that.
I’ve been wanting one ever since.

What This Memory Still Teaches Me
Desire doesn’t always come from lack—it often comes from recognition
Children notice structure long before they understand economics
Sometimes our dreams are born on the road between what was and what’s next
That moment wasn’t about real estate.
It was about root chakra energy—the need for stability, home, and grounded belonging. Even back then, my spirit was mapping safety.

Journal Prompt
What childhood moment first shaped your idea of “success” or “home”?
Was it something said… or something quietly seen?
What desire has followed you across decades without explanation?
Write it down. That memory may be the blueprint.

✨ Reiki RaEss 🧿