Home, is a feeling

I was never convinced that home is a place. It’s a feeling.

I say this because I’ve had many places to call my own, but none of them felt like home.

I’ve had many places that felt homely, most often when visiting the homes of others, but none that felt like my home.

Home, in my mind, became that larger than life aspirational goal that continues to fuel everything that I do.

It’s a vision and a dream, a goal and a purpose.

But never having truly connected with it, it is an idea, the closest to which I’ve come having been the intense belief that I was created for a place other than this.

Thus, I adopted the pace and purpose of a traveller, never looking for roots but always feeling grounded.

The same is true for concepts like peace and feeling safe.

All nice ideas and beautiful imagery but lacking in substance.

Born restless. Living restlessly. Hopefully to die peacefully.

Fully spent. Without a single ounce of energy to spare, or regrets to lament.

Just a peaceful conclusion to the best effort that I was capable of.

Perhaps in that lies the promise of all three. Safe, peaceful, and homely at the moment of reaching my final destination.

Exhale.

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