I spend countless hours searching.
What am I looking for?
What will make it feel right?
The right lamp?
The right chair?
The right walls?
The right town?
The right state?
I search for these things and these places
To make me complete
To make me belong

To be a Home.

But then I remember.
I am not like the others.
I am not content with the right furniture
With the right decor
With the right accessories.
I’m not content with ‘things’ at all.
Things change.
Things adapt.
Things are not constant.

‘I’ am not constant.

I’m a gypsy.
I’m a vagabond.
So, where do I find my stability?
How can I remain grounded when I’m so driven to move –
To change –
To adapt –
To run?


In walk my children.
An email arrives from my dear friend.
I look around the room and see pictures of my sisters.
My brother.
I move my sweet, yet annoying, cat out from under my feet.

Now I remember.

It doesn’t matter where I am.
Or what I’m surrounded by.

The temporary homesickness subsides.

When my analytical mind starts to forget,
In walks my heart to remind me.

I am home.

~ 02/18/11 ~

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