I moved back home recently.
What does home mean, really?
In my four decades of life, I’ve lived many of my formative early teen and young adult years, as well as a hefty chunk of adult life away from the place I was born. I had Butterball in a whole other country. Up until now, she had never known any other place as home. She’s not quite at home at the moment.
So back to the question—what is home?
Home is love. Home is roots. Those things don’t always stay the same, no matter what you have been raised to believe. Life is fluid—so is love and so is roots. What is home will shift with time as surely as your hands will wrinkle with age.
Home feels right. It just sits, completely at ease, in your belly.
Am I home? Yes, I am. For now.