I often think our childhood memories are amongst the strongest versions of our existence. After all, were those not the days that shaped us? The strokes of the brush that painted the outline of our life so that we could then add the colour and choose the landscape.

Even when we change the backdrop, multiple times, that first landscape still survives, it’s palette being a more vivid shade than any of the others that followed.

First steps. First kiss. First love.

There is an ever present invisible umbilical cord tied to the place of our birth. @SkylarLiberty
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It’s as though the streets cry out to us, “Remember me, remember how I held you?”

At the times I feel most vulnerable, there is a part of me that feels an acute pull to go back in time to the familiarity of all I knew in those formative years. I want to be cradled, wrapped up in the softness of memories and the comfort of yesteryear. For there is a place for me there, amongst the streets I used to know, amidst the paving stones that felt my footfall a thousand times over.

It’s easier than ever before to indulge our wanderlust. We live in an age of opportunity where different paths can be explored and new places beckon to us. We are lured by the thought of fresh starts on blank canvases.

Yet there is a part of us that we leave lovingly wrapped in old homes, in past haunts, not wanting to vacate the much loved spaces completely. Because they hold part of our story. Of who we are. So we cling on tightly. Even if we want to let go. Even when we yearn to leave, when we know we cannot stay, cannot grow if we remain, we never fully depart.

I’ve traced the walls of houses I’ve left, letting my fingers slide down the brickwork and paper, wanting the structure to keep a permanent part of me so that I may continue to exist somewhere solid. When I feel flimsy and flighty, when I have a need to be grounded, I can remind myself that there are parts of my soul forever cemented where my roots lay. Remnants of my journey still remain, clutching to those childhood spaces that are etched so vividly in my mind.

So much of me is contained in my childhood town. The air is charged with memories that linger. I wonder how many lifetimes they will remain, how many seasons of change will they know. Are they always there? Or do they leave and return as I do?

As I turned from child to teen to woman my experiences were witnessed by the life forces around me. The trees whispered my secrets to each other and the breeze carried my childish dreams far, far away, telling the places that I longed to visit that I would one day come to their shores.

And now, I am indeed far away. At the same shores I once dreamt of, making new memories, creating new dreams. People and places of the past are images that live now only in the archives of my mind. Sometimes I see them in the raindrops that slide down my windowpane in rivulets. Sometimes I feel them in moments of déjà vu with different faces on other streets.

And sometimes I hear them, as voices of courage inside my head that tell me “I’ve got you. You’re home. You’re safe.”

And I am.

Skylar Liberty Rose is a big believer in the healing power of creativity and the freedom found in living your truth. She is a writer, blogger and street photographer and believes in manifesting dreams through action and visualisation. Skylar is an advocate of stripping away layers of conditioning and instead discovering the person you are truly meant to be. She is inspired by souls with spirit and courageous hearts. Skylar grew up in London, and now lives with her husband in New York City. You can follow her on Twitter, FB, and her blog.