They say that there’s no place like home. But I have come to realize that I don’t know where “home” is anymore. Tomorrow I am headed to Colorado. The place where I grew up. The place where my parents live. The place I lived for 25 years. The place I always feel instantly relaxed and yet totally exhilarated. The place I always used to call home. But is it home now?
Or is my home Los Angeles? This is where I have made my family, my career, my life. This is where I purchased a home that I loved and have filled it full of belongings and of memories. This is home to my daughter… the only home she has ever known. But despite living here for almost 8 years, California still doesn’t feel quite like home to me.
Here or There? Colorado or California? Either… or? Neither… nor? Where do I fit in? No longer there, but not yet here. Am I home-less?
Or perhaps home to me is not a place but something else entirely… a person, a memory, a book, a look, a song, a smell. Perhaps home is talking with my family over dinner on the back deck of my parent’s house. It is sharing a bottle of wine and a lot of laughs with a good friend. It is discussing my day… good or bad… with my husband. It’s my daughter’s goofy smile. It’s the sun on my face. It’s an inside joke. It’s singing along to the radio. It’s the sound of the lawn mover, the smell of pancakes, and the taste of chili. It’s my husband’s arms. It’s the exquisite, instantly recognizable scent of my daughter.
Home is not a place. It is so much more.
Yes, this is home… and there’s no place like it.