Growing up, when my father moved us from California to Washington, I thought the world had ended. Moving was nothing new, we did that here and there, but we never went too far from the last location.
Washington welcomed me with chicken pox and food poisoning. Thankfully, not at the same time. Besides that, Washington felt like a glove that didn’t fit (Dear O.J….). And, it was a completely different environment. As a child when it rained in California, we had recess inside. In Washington they let you play in the rain?! They had never heard of such a thing as “canceling recess.” In California, fire and earthquake drills meant you sat outside on the grass for nearly an hour. Washington had you out and back in under ten minutes. (You didn’t have time to look for four leaf clovers!!)
As an adult, moving to Arizona felt like the closest thing to coming home as I could get.
It had been too many years to count when I finally went “home” at the beginning of this year. But once I got California, something odd happened. It didn’t feel any different than any other place to me, it didn’t feel like I went home. What had happened?
I visited my mom’s home (since my parents divorced) from my childhood and also visited her grave site. Those moments were magical. Yet, the second I left that location I was a fish out of water. I visited the beach, and although dearly missed, it didn’t feel the same. Maybe because I was no longer the same.
I know for some home is a feeling, not necessarily a place. I agree.
Funny thing is, I’ve come to understand a different home. A place I never thought I would consider home. I also grew to learn that home is a feeling you can have when you are with a person. And that, is the best home anyone can get ever have.