Home is an interesting concept.
We say home is were the heart is – with our family.
And yet, I feel at home in places I’ve never lived with my family. Lately I’ve been homesick for Columbus, a place I live for only 4 years. But oh how I ache for it. I miss the restaurants and the stores and the museums and the festivals and the community. I feel like I have lived there my whole life. It clicked.
We say that the place doesn’t matter. But it does.
My family may be moving in the next few years. Its funny. I long to leave this place, and yet I already miss it. I miss running into people that I know all over. I miss walking into the coffee shop and knowing everyone there. I miss my church. I miss the fair. I miss where I grew up.
But I know wherever my family, or myself, end up, it will be home. I feel at home when there’s a tiny reminder of Christmas somewhere. And a plant strangely enough. (My dad is an agriculture educator. And we have gardens. Plural.) And a piano. And a set of Harry Potter books.
And laughter and love. Completely cliche, but completely true.
(Daily Post prompt: What does “home” mean to you? How would describe what it feels like to feel “at home”? It may be something specific about the physical details of where you’d like to live, or it could be more about how you feel when you are in the right place.)