It's been unclear in this time of transition where "home" actually is. "Home is where the heart is", an oft-quoted proverb, suggests that where your affections and deepest connections are made is where home is. In these last six weeks as I have lived in my new "house", I've mused about where "home" really is.
When we left for Sutter Creek last Thursday for five days of multiple responsibilities--a funeral, a seminar, counseling, dental work--I said a few times, "We are going home", almost without thinking. In that subconscious expression I was responding to the seventeen years we had lived there, the multitude of friendships we had developed and the poignant memories of good times.
We had a great time in Amador County, visiting and sharing meals with friends, driving through familiar country that we had navigated many times before. But, alas, I discovered it was no longer"home" for too much had changed about my life there...and here.
The place where I now go to church is in San Luis Obispo. The place where I have my office is in San Luis Obispo. The place where I shop, where I sleep, where I run on the beach, where I bike, where I eat, where I see my family...all are in San Luis Obispo County, three hundred miles from the place I used to call "home".
Bev and I left Jackson and drove to my mom's house in Stockton early Tuesday morning before heading south to Arroyo Grande. I grew up in Stockton, but as wonderful as it is to spend time with mom there, it is no longer "home". As we said good-bye to mom and my sister, Diane, and climbed into our Yukon, I turned to Bev and said, "We are going home".
"There's no place like home..."
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