Finding My Way Home

“Home.”

 Where is “home”?

People tend to talk about “home” quite often. Is it a place? A feeling? A person?

William Faulkner dreamed and thought of home, “How often have I lain beneath rain on a strange roof, thinking of home.” Beth Revis, in A Million Suns, said, “Sometimes home is not a place, it’s a person.” Then there is the famous quote, “Home is where the heart is.” But what/where/who is home?

It wasn’t until recently I felt like I began to understand this place we refer to as home. I have begun finding my way home.

In the US I never really felt at home. Not that people were not loving or family was not inviting. No. It wasn’t that at all. I was for some reason, some how, made differently. I felt more at “home” among those from strange* lands than among the locals. My heart was always in another land. That land was unknown to me. How can you feel at home somewhere you have never been?

Today as I was walking back from the bus station, headed to my apartment, my heart felt full. It was a reminder that I am exactly where I need to be, where I want to be, where I have always dreamed of being. I deeply miss those I left behind in the US, yet I do not miss the US. No matter where we call home, there will always be smiles and laughter. There will always be conflicts. There will always be excitement, fear, joy, and sadness. Home, wherever that may be for each of us, is not void of emotion or stress or conflict or anything in between. As I go about my daily life in China, there are times when I really wish so-and-so (any number of my friends) was here to do such-and-such with me. There is so much to be seen and explored. Yet, I do not miss the location that I once called home. This place, this journey, these people, this life … this is my home.

I have found my way:

Home is not only where the heart is, it is where you can give your heart away and still walk away with it overflowing.
* Strange as in I have not adventured through them, haven’t visited them; not strange as in weird…

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