Home

I’ve always struggled with the meaning of “home”.
They have all these phrases to help you identify what’s a house, what’s a home, what’s a family blah blah blah.

“Home is where the heart is.”  The most standard of them all.

I hate when people ask me where I’m from.

Like… Where was I born? Where did I grow up? Where do I belong? What do you mean, where am I “from”? I’m a product of everywhere I’ve been.

I usually just answer them that my family lives in Sacramento. Ah yes, they reply, Cap City. Everyone is familiar with the Capitol. This eliminates the confusion. Until of course, they ask for my phone number (area code first). Or ask where I went to college- do you mean like, where did I graduate?

My gypsy soul has taught me that I can make a home anywhere I go.
My gypsy soul has taught me to feel at home wherever I go.

Home isn’t a place at all.  Home is a feeling.