What does it mean to be home for you?
For me, when people ask me where I’m from, I pause and think about what to say. “I was born in PA but I grew up in Florida,” is my generalized answer.
I spent majority of my short life in the south but I have some of the deepest connections in Pennsylvania.
The truth is, I’m more at home in the woods or near the ocean, then in any four walls. Home has never been somewhere that confines me but in whatever gives me the freedom to experience the world around me.
It’s in the smell of dirt after it rains. And the sound it makes on the roof of my porch.
It’s in the changing colors of a sunset. The peaceful calm I experience gazing at rolling blue mountains, as far as I can see.
It’s in the roaring tide repeatedly hitting the shore. The pelican perched on a banister, people watching with his beady eyes.
It’s in a well played set. A guitar riff that urges me to move my hips and forget everything else.
It’s in the unknown on an open road to my next adventure.
It’s experiencing somewhere new with someone new. It’s deep conversation with a stranger.
It’s laughs and streaming tears shared with the people who know me best.
It’s in the arms that have made me feel safe. The company of lovers who gave me their time, their affection and their hearts.
It’s the bubbling conversations over a well prepared meal.
Home is in the connections stitched into my skin, the experiences that taught me something about myself and the questions I have not yet to ask.
Home is wherever I am.