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Where’s Home for You?
A place, a feeling, of security
I’ve moved a lot. My ex was a career Navy officer, and we moved every 2 years. I loved that I had the opportunity to travel, and I embraced every place that I moved to as “home.”
Most military wives that I knew resented being away from the place they called “home.” They survived their itinerant lives by dreaming of retirement and an eventual return to what they had left behind, as though the 20 years of a career were only a time spent in waiting to return to what they considered their “real” lives, back home.
Time passes no matter where one lives. I’ve always preferred to live my days, rather than willing time to pass until I could get to some desired outcome. I never had any future planned out. Qué sera, sera.
For me, “home” isn’t a geographical location, but rather a “feeling.”
Home is the beach. The waves, the tides, the salt, the sandy shore. Home is the birds singing. Home is the garden: the tiny seeds, the sprouting leaves, the smell of soil. Home is pine needles on the forest floor. Home is the canopy of the jungle.
Home is a soft, warm blanket. Candlelight. My dog curled up next to me. Morning coffee, afternoon tea. Curtains blowing in the gentle breeze. A book by my…
