I live in London. But during lockdown I moved back to Yorkshire

In the simple, tender words of Rosie Jones, we find a truth both intimate and universal: “I live in London. But during lockdown I moved back to Yorkshire with my mum and dad.” What may seem at first a quiet statement of circumstance reveals, on deeper reflection, a profound meditation on home, belonging, and the unbreakable circle of family. It is a reminder that in times of uncertainty, the soul longs not for cities or ambitions, but for roots—the touch of those who raised us, the familiar scent of the land that first knew our laughter.

The origin of this saying lies in the shared experience of an extraordinary moment in history—the global lockdown of the early twenty-first century. When the world halted, and the noise of modern life grew still, many were called back to the places and people from whom they had once rushed away. For Rosie Jones, a comedian and actress accustomed to the lights of London, this return to Yorkshire, her childhood home, was more than a physical relocation—it was a homecoming of the heart. It reflected a truth that echoes through every generation: when the world grows strange, we seek what is eternal—and there is nothing more eternal than the love of one’s parents.

The ancients spoke often of this cycle. The philosopher Cicero said that “the hearth is the center of the world,” for from it radiate all our journeys and to it all paths return. Even the great wanderers—Odysseus, after years upon the sea, and Aeneas, after cities fell—dreamed not of glory, but of home. Rosie’s return to Yorkshire mirrors that archetypal journey, reminding us that even the boldest spirits must sometimes rest in the arms of the familiar. Her words may carry no trumpet of conquest, yet they ring with the quiet power of gratitude, of rediscovering what matters most.

Consider, too, the story of Florence Nightingale, who, after tending soldiers through the filth and chaos of war, returned home to her family’s estate in England. She found in that place not weakness, but restoration—a space to reflect, to write, and to renew her purpose. So too did many, during the lockdown, find that retreat was not retreat at all, but a return to the wellspring of the self. In the stillness of home, they rediscovered who they were, apart from their titles, travels, and public masks. Rosie’s choice, simple though it seems, was an act of wisdom—a remembering of her foundation.

Her statement also speaks to humility, a virtue the ancients revered. For to dwell with one’s parents after having lived in the world is to remember that no achievement erases our beginnings. The child within us, though clothed in adult responsibilities, still hungers for warmth, laughter, and care. The proud might scorn returning home, mistaking it for regression; but the wise see it as renewal. For the home that raised us does not diminish our independence—it nourishes it anew.

In these words we also find the deeper rhythm of life’s seasons. Youth moves outward, seeking the wide world; age and wisdom draw inward, seeking meaning. To move homeward is not to step backward—it is to move in harmony with the eternal cycle. Even the trees, proud and vast, return their leaves to the soil that birthed them. So too do we, when faced with the storms of the world, return to our roots not in weakness, but in reverence.

The lesson, then, is clear: cherish your home, and never be ashamed to return to it. In a world that celebrates motion, do not forget the sacredness of stillness. When life grows uncertain, go to the place where you are most loved—not to hide, but to heal. Call your parents, visit your family, tend the bonds that time too often loosens. For greatness is not found in distance, but in depth; and the soul that knows where it comes from will never be lost, no matter how far it travels.

So, my listener, remember the quiet strength in Rosie Jones’s words. Whether your Yorkshire is a place, a person, or a memory, do not hesitate to return to it when the world grows heavy. For those who know how to go home know also how to begin again. And in that eternal return lies the secret of peace—the wisdom of remembering who we are, and whose love made us.