I've been having trouble writing. In fact, I've been having trouble thinking. There are a million thoughts whirring through my mind at any given time, and it's making my head spin. I have two weeks. Two weeks until I am there. Two weeks until I am home. Then again, my mind starts to drift. What is home? Where is home? When I was in love, I spent my theories of home on it. Love was home. That person, who makes you feel comfortable, who makes you feel safe, who makes you feel like you can be and ought to be the very best version of yourself, that person is home. No matter where you are with them, it's home. Then all that turned out to be farce, and I was homeless again. So I was left without a home, for my heart at least, and to decide what home was.
Is home a place? Is home a concept? What is home? These are questions I have been considering a lot as of late. I'm moving out, I'm moving on, I'm growing up. The place I have considered home for the past 14 years will no longer be my home. It will be a place that I visit and keep my things. It will be where my family is. Can I have more than one home? I don't even know if home is a place at all. In my opinion, it's more of a concept. It's simply a situation in which you feel comfortable being and expressing yourself. Somewhere that you are happy, for the most part at least.
I have to be my own home. Maybe that's what home is. Maybe you just have to decide that you are home. You have to decide that you are comfortable with yourself, and that wherever you are, you are happy and you make the best of it. My home is on the road. My home is at Evergreen. My home is wherever my feet take me. Home is wherever my mind wanders. Home is wherever my heart takes me.