Please don't tell me I'm not really home until I've lived in a place for nine years. I haven't ever lived in a place for nine solid years, and since I left my parents' house to spend a year in France when I was 16, I've rarely lived in one place longer than a year or two. Home is not about how long I've been somewhere, it's not about whether you are surprised to see me there or if you think I belong, in fact it's not about you at all- it's about how I feel and I've felt at home in many places around the world. Don't be so bossy and I won't get on your case about being stuck in a rut for having never moved.
I'm home where my bags are.
I'm home where my boxes are, even if they haven't been unpacked yet.
I'm home where my kids are.
I'm home where I know more than one way to get to the grocery store, a gas station, and my kids' school, and how to get home again, all without GPS.
I'm home where I can cook dinner, even for the first time.
I'm home where I can count at least one neighbor as a friend.
I'm home where I know how to say hello to people on the street.
I'm home where I know the name of something that grows nearby.
I'm home where I can go for a long walk and mostly not get lost.
My homes are where my heart is, and there are more than I can count.
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