A sweet and wise friend, Namita, shared a story with her Facebook pals that went something like this (I paraphrase—and switch up genders, just for fun):

One day, a young Buddhist, on her way home after a long journey, found herself before a wide and mighty river, one that impeded her progress. She spent hours on the bank, trying to figure out how to cross the great barrier.

Feeling hopeless about being able to continue on her journey home, she saw, on the opposite bank of the river, a venerable teacher. She called out, “Oh, wise one. Can you tell me how to get to the other side?” The teacher, thoughtfully considering her answer, called back, “My child, you are on the other side.”

Maybe I find this story so poignant because I just returned home from a two-week-long journey (and very, very nearly missed the return flight). But there’s something else here that strikes home (so to speak). It’s not quite the somewhat clichéd idea that wherever one is, one is already home, but it is close.

I am graced to know a few swamis—great meditators and teachers, each one—who share a common characteristic that I find pretty stunning: they are remarkably emotionally self-supporting. I see this most in their comings and goings. When they arrive from their international travels and teaching, they are filled with happiness and contentment at seeing those of us who welcome them. And when they leave us, they are filled with happiness and contentment in their going.

This has taken some getting used to. After all, one wants a friend, teacher, or loved one to grieve a bit when she leaves, to depart reluctantly, with sadness. But now I find it something to aspire to, since I see it as evidence of a valuable kind of emotional self-sufficiency, a kind of fullness that one feels in a home that is safe, warm, familiar, and welcoming. I, too, want to feel this, wherever I am.

Sometimes the barriers we face are wide and mighty external things like rivers, or wacky airline regulations and requirements, or the emotional reactions of other people. Sometimes they are internal, but no less wide and mighty: fear, doubt, anger, jealousy, laziness, and the like. How does one get home in the face of such obstacles?

For me, the answer is this: I practice. I sit, breathe, meditate, and find that stillness that is not a lack of something, but that is fullness itself, that is the full presence of the ever-wise inner teacher. Then I consciously impress what this feels like into my memory, so that when I venture out into the world again, I can always arrive back home, especially when it seems farthest away.