I mulled over the concept of home as I stood near the tree line that separated my yard from the neighbor. I knew every inch of grass and every tree trunk. I loved it all.
I have lived a lot of places in my five years; everywhere from South Carolina to Oregon with a few stops in the Dakotas along the way. Oh, the excitement of discovering the new sights, sounds, and smells. From the aroma of seafood grilling in Charleston to the scent of breweries in scattered though out Eugene. I loved it all.
However, what I have found was that while I reveled in the excitement and adventure of new experiences, where everything was intoxicating and new, filled with limitless possibilities, I also liked the calm and comfort of home. The enjoyment of one didn’t have to preclude the enjoyment of the other. Nevertheless, home was a settling in. A familiar, though sometimes unexciting, pace of life.
Home was like the backyard. You’ve already peed on all the trees, but you were still excited to do it again the next time you went outside.
I’d always thought the best way to live was to enjoy places and spaces when you were away and when you returned open your arms wide and embrace the comfort of familiarity; for there was a longing of a home in all of us. A longing to belong.
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