What is “home”?  It’s a word that so often comes out of my mouth, but lately it has gotten me thinking.

Is home for me my apartment in Sydney?  Because that’s where the majority of my belongings are.  Is home for me Luke’s place?  Because that’s where I spend most of my nights.  Is home for me San Diego, CA?  Because that’s the place I’ve spent my adulthood and it’s the place I’m moving back to.  Or is home for me Seattle, WA?  Because that’s where I grew up.  Is home for me America?  Because that’s my country of origin.  Or is home for me Australia?  Because that’s where I’m currently living (and it’s feeling a lot like home to me).

At this point, I don’t know.  All of those places listed truly are “home” to me.  So what does “home” mean for me?  “Home” is a place where you can identify with;  it’s a place filled with people you love, a place where you feel comfortable, and a place that defines who you are as a person today.  And that’s the hardest part about moving – even though I’m always at one “home”, I’m always missing another.  

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