A year in the writing

Home. I have called several places home. I have filled out the box for one’s home address with more than 15 different locations. I had a home in 4 different time zones, traveled up to 24 hours to get home and lived with over 12 different people. I have started over more times than I can remember. I have favorite coffee shops in D.C., favorite shops in Chicago, favorite bars in Dayton and favorite restaurants in China. I have met the most amazing people in every place that I have called home. I have cried, laugh, gotten lost, and locked out in each and every home. But when I start to add it all up, it all comes down to the same answer.

What this year has taught me is that my home is within me. This year has been a year of unexpected amazingness. A year that has been splendidly imperfect. It was a year that lacked the excitement of foreign lands, but contained the comfort of rediscovering something familiar.

Like finding that old perfectly worn in t-shirt in your drawer. You knew it was always there, but had forgotten how good it felt when you put it on. Instead of a new excitement every day, it was a year of establishing routines, it was a year of lazy Saturdays, of long walks and even longer bike rides. It was a year of finding new friends and re-finding many old friends. And, in so many ways, things have fallen into place, maybe not the place I had thought I wanted, but always the place that I needed.

I think I finally understand that it is made up not of a location or an address, but by the memories and experience within me and with the incredible people that surround me. I can’t say that I won’t leave again, or that there won’t be a day again that I won’t wake up and get that feeling. That feeling that I need movement. But for right now. Today and for tomorrow. I am where I am supposed to be. I am home.

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