In 2010, after joining my partner in his country of origin, I found myself experiencing a new kind of missing that surprised me—one that has since led to profound change in my life. Now back in my home country of South Africa, I give thanks for the opportunity I had “to miss”.
For those living a more nomadic life, missing is a particularly familiar experience. Sometimes we carry it lightly, sometimes it keeps us weighted down to the ground.
Missing, much like the seasons, comes in a range of sensations…
There is the deep nostalgia, which invites us to pause and—if we do—tends to pass and leave us with a full heart.
There is the cold and brittle ache, which time and care and reparative experiences can thaw, if we can bare to allow that.
There is the gentle tug at the heartstrings, which draws a smile and acknowledgment of a good have-loved.
My missing during my two years in the Netherlands was of the latter kind—and it took me by surprise. During work breaks, I’d switch on Animal Planet or National Geographic and find myself enraptured, then in ridiculous floods of tears. I was longing for wildness, wild creatures, and the sense of belonging and perspective they give me.
It was only by leaving home that I could miss something I hadn’t realised was essential to who I am, and where I need to be. In moving away from it, I was able to then move—consciously and mindfully—back towards it.
How did I do this?
While still in the Netherlands, I volunteered at a cat sanctuary that was in cycling distance from our tiny Amsterdam apartment, so I could be around, and offer care to, animals. A year later, I returned home, where I’m able to spend more time in wild places and where I have slowly changed the direction of my life and career to reflect my love for a wilder world.
Acknowledging the key role wilderness plays in my life helped me to accept my need to return home. It helped me understand that I didn’t “fail” in my international experience.
Of course, there are things I miss about my former host country too, like transparent governance, high levels of personal safety, better animal welfare laws, and seeing my partner (who returned with me and became my husband, in case you were wondering) immersed in his “first life”.
Might it be that all the seasons of missings, however sweet or painful or powerful, are clues to what our fullest selves might feel like? I think so.
This is an updated version of an article that appeared on www.expatnest.com in 2015. My husband and I separated in 2023, after 15 years together. We remain friends and he has chosen to stay in South Africa, because, like me, he longs for wildness.
ARTWORK: Cherdchai Chaivimol/Shutterstock
© 2025 WILD YOGA AFRICA
