Where is "Home?"

“Home.” “Where do you call ‘home?’” This is common question in small talk and a super hard one for me to answer.

It feels like what was, as in the family I traveled with for the first 18 years of my life is ‘home’. But is that “home” anymore? We are fractured, separated by distance, by aging, and by the ‘other’ families we have each formed.

Is it my “formed family?” Is it the ‘unit’ I grew known as ‘daughter?’ (She and I both laugh at how weird it is to think that she grew inside me, like I was some sort of seed pod.)

Is it the longing for place? Is it Heimat, the German word for that longing? Have I ever really felt ‘at home’ or am I perpetually searching for it inside myself?

Why do I have to think so damn much? It ain’t easy being me. Is everything better in retrospect? Does this allow me to filter, to change the lense of remembering to a lense of something morphed, softened or hardened depending on my mood?

I can totally relate to Thoreou’s desire to “Walden It.” And then, I remember that I am scared of snakes.

I can relate to Georgia O’Keefe’s flee to the desert. And then I remember I am scared of…snakes.

I can absolutely plan a mental life by the ocean in some idyllic cottage with wind chimes, eclectic furnishings, with mysterious, totally reliable internet connection in this remote place. And then I remember… my fear of sharks, floods and well, being alone.

I think I am destined to be forever a Mental Nomad. Yes, that fits. If there is ‘not such a thing’ there is now. “Mental Nomad”-add it to the new list of buzz words.

Where is ‘home’ for you? Thank you for reading. Rarely, do people answer my ending plea for their stories. Now that’s a whole other question for me for another day. Right now, I am going to go on a Mental Nomad Quest. Peace, Out.