* I think I’ve written something titled the same before.
It may be synonymous to belonging. To be home, not in flux, not traveling or in between. Home base.
Humans need such a place. Floating around, not anchored, isn’t a good feeling.
Sure, teenagers do this for years as they find a home away from home.
Middle life. There should be some indication where home is.
Even if you are a traveling salesman or war correspondent.
There is a home – a base.
In the last year, I’ve had time to think about this.
A place to call home.
I’ve struggled with this concept; I’m here, home is there.
The longer I stay here, it becomes “home”. Familiar even as I fight against that familiarity.
Like it is something I don’t want. But I do.
My heart is there, my “home” for the last six months is here.
In six months I’ve come to enjoy this place.
Settle here? No, I can’t. It still feels prickly.
But enjoy it here? Perhaps long to come back? Yes.
Because daily life is becoming comfortable here.
Home could be ‘nomadderwhere”
Home is where my heart is.
Not a place exactly, I could live anyplace.
Then why? Why the confusion, the headache and discontent?
My life story, my children, my family, my home.
I like this place, I’ve met some great people here.
Still I have had a plan a long time in the making.
Dreams weaved with people in my fabric of life itself.
Sure, key players are gone; physically and emotionally.
I will be alone at home. My kids, adults now, have their own plans.
Yet that shell, ghost whispers, wisps of dreams, hopes, love is there.
It pulls me back.
Home is where the heart is.