Where do you belong? Where in the world is the place that you want to, or do, call Home.
is it ironic that whoever typed this prompt capitalized the word 'home'? I think so.
this is a subject that comes to my mind from time to time, and I honestly struggle with it very much. I think my perception of home is different than perhaps it should be ... well, no, because that would be me caring more than I ought to about how other people define the word. I suppose that what I really mean to say is that I don't often think of where I am as either home or not home, if that makes a lick of sense. I tried to write a song about it once. whenever I perform it, I inevitably get 'lost' and struggle to play the best ending. it is my only truly unfinished song yet I am compelled to continue playing it. strange.
see, last weekend I went to what I can affectionately refer to as 'home', if for no other reason than it happens to be the town I was born in. but my parents don't live in the same house they did back then. I am not even entirely sure which house it was, to be honest. I think it was william house, but I could be wrong. I have no memory of that place. I have been inside, though, once. a friend owned it for a brief period of time. I toured it, but it meant nothing to me, and why should it?
as a kid, we moved a fair number of times. all in the same city, mind you, and I only changed schools once as a result, so nothing traumatic for me. in fact, it was all this moving around that grew under my happy skin and made me love moving and change and starting over. I get restless easily. nothing inherently wrong with that, unless you talk to someone who has never moved and then I can see the charm and assurance that can come with that life, too. not that I would want to trade, just an ability to appreciate the ebb and flow of life and how it differs for everyone.
when I went back 'home' last weekend, it was more about seeing my mom and dad, being in their current house, eating familiar food, having familiar conversation, then having the chance to see some friends I haven't laid eyes on since we graduated high school, 21 years ago. it was fantastic, surreal, and comforting, like picking up where we last left off, only now we are all grown up ... mostly.
I have said it many times before but I keep coming back to the same phrase whenever I find myself nostalgic, staring out a window, not really thinking, just feeling things. my heart truly rests in myriad places. some I may never go to again, though if I have my way, I will revisit each and every one and breathe them in until I feel full again. what would life be without longing? I simply cannot imagine mine any other way.
home, to me, is not found in any one place.
home is found when I rest in the presence of the people I love, whether they are present physically or indulged in reminiscence.
home is not necessarily where I am, now.
Home is where I am going.