It seems like no matter where I go in the world, I’m always looking for home. Not that I don’t have a place to live, I do. Currently, I reside in a great house, on a good block in a swell neighborhood. My stuff gathers there. My hats are hung inside. But it’s not home. It’s like a temporary way station until I find the real place. The place I finally put down some roots and refuse to yank them out again. Like I’ve done eight times in the last 10 years.
When I finally land, it will be in a house where I love waking up to greet the sun on the back porch. I’ll sit outside with a stellar cup of coffee contemplating the forecast of an amazing day. The kind of workday that keeps me busy enough to stave off any boredom but not so demanding it feels like a grind.
In the evening I’ll gather with friends who are likeminded and entertaining. People who like organic food and care about the environment. My friends are super smart and they laugh easily, but also care deeply. I never have to worry whether anyone has my back because they all do, and I reciprocate in kind. We often discuss serious issues, but instead of just complaining about the status quo, we all commit to take one small step to change our little piece of the planet for the good of ALL.
Some of us have different political views, but we love each other enough to listen carefully and respond thoughtfully. There is no blame or vitriol. Nothing ugly happens here.
My home will be the place I always think of when I’m away. The place I always long for because it’s where I’m happiest. Where my comfy bed lives in a large room just waiting for me to get horizontal and grab a good book. It’s a place where I grow some veggies and flowers so I’m always surrounded by living things and beauty.
Home. The scene where I laugh the most, and dance across the living room floor pretending I’m a rock star because, in my house, I am. Also, there are llamas in the yard, just because.
What says home for you?