Home is not where you are born;
home is where all your attempts
to escape cease

Thomas Wolfe warned in the title of America’s great novel that ‘You Can’t Go Home Again.’ I enjoyed the book but I never agreed with the title. I believe that one can never leave home. I believe that one carries the shadows, the dreams, the fears and dragons of home under one’s skin, at the extreme corners of one’s eyes and possibly in the gristle of the earlobe.

Home is that youthful region where a child is the only real living inhabitant. Parents, siblings, and neighbors, are mysterious apparitions, who come, go, and do strange unfathomable things in and around the child, the region’s only enfranchised citizen.
[…]

We may act sophisticated and worldly but I believe we feel safest when we go inside ourselves and find home, a place where we belong and maybe the only place we really do.

Home is collecting stories, writing them down, and retelling them. Home is writing, and it grounds, sustains, and nourishes me. Home is the page. The one place I always, always come back to.

Home is where you feel at home. I'm still looking.

Home is neither here nor there. Home is within you, or home is nowhere at all.

I had grown accustomed to my station here.
Enduring it as if lost in a dream.
But today, my eyes have been opened.
Today, I awake.
Too long have I suffered adversity.
Pain from the actions of those entrusted with protecting me.
Forging on, my past shall not define me, even as I stand afeard a resurgence of my true vulnerabilities.
The time has come at last to abandon this isle.
To depart, never to return.
Fare thee well, O home.
Wait for my return no longer.
Onward I must proceed with strength in each footfall
Evermore haunted with the memories of the man I used to be.
For my old home is now behind me.
Faith is my new home.

Home is where the people who live there need me to come home to them, and worry about me when I'm gone. There's no such place on this earth, no matter how far I drive.

Home for me is about safety and embrace. It's about shedding all the external masks that we have to wear out in the world. Home is really about beauty, safety, history. My friendships are home for me. My family is home for me. It's an energetic connection that creates a sense of safety and groundedness, where I don't have to wear any mask. I can just be myself.

Home is where the heart is. Home is the quality of presence. It’s the quality of being. Home is always here.

Home is the place where loneliness disappears. When we’re home, we feel warm, comfortable, safe, fulfilled.

It is the purity of a truth of which you have had only a glimpse. This is the feast, and the tiny tidbits you tasted before, back there, had made you hope for the existence of the Whole. The nameless emotion, longing, nostalgia, sense of destiny that you felt back there when you stared at the cloud layered sunset in Hawaii, when you stood quietly among the tall, waving trees in the silent forest, when a musical selection, passage, or song recalled memories of the past or brought forth a longing for which there was no associated memory, when you longed for the place where you belonged, whether city, town, country, nation, or family—these are now fulfilled. You are Home. You are where you belong. Where you always should have been.

I miss everyone. I can remember being young and feeling a thing and identifying it as homesickness, and then thinking well now that’s odd, isn’t it, because I was home, all the time. What on earth are we to make of that?

We are what we remember and we understand heritage and belonging through our own passion to remember. Home is a living scrap-book of memory that we carry as we move about, as we remember the vanquished and their respective passions and sorrows. Memory can never reside in abstraction. Memory must be cemented into concrete, must be worn like a dress, must be lived in like a home of differing levels, textures, and colors.

let me belong again to that faraway place I left so long ago, from which I am alienated, and which has forgotten me, in which I am an alien now even though it was the place where I began, let me belong again, walk those streets knowing they are mine, knowing that my story is a part of those streets, even though it isn't, it hasn't been for most of a lifetime, let it be so, let it be so