Life & Wisdom Quote by Rumi

The line turns homesickness into a spiritual boomerang: you leave in order to return, and the return is what makes “home” legible. Rumi isn’t romanticizing travel as self-improvement; he’s diagnosing a paradox of desire. The satisfaction he “needs” isn’t a souvenir you pick up elsewhere. It’s a condition you can only recognize after distance has stripped your routines of their disguises. Leaving becomes a kind of fasting: an intentional deprivation that recalibrates appetite.

The subtext is almost sly. “It may be” softens what is actually a confident claim about the human tendency to mislocate fulfillment. We project wholeness onto the horizon, convinced that the missing piece is “out there,” when the real problem is perception. Going away functions like a mirror that only works when you step back; it lets you see the familiar without the film of entitlement and repetition. When he says “when I’ve gone and come back,” he’s also sneaking in the idea that the self who returns is not the self who left. The home may be unchanged; the seeker is rewritten.

Context matters: Rumi’s Sufi world treats separation and return as the engine of awakening. The soul is a traveler not because God is far away, but because the self is noisy. “Home” isn’t just a house; it’s origin, belonging, the divine presence hidden in plain sight. The genius of the line is its quiet refusal to pick a side between escape and contentment: it makes the journey necessary, then denies it the final credit.