Can you really go home again?
This question rattled around in my brain all weekend. On Friday, Google Maps did a fun thing for April Fools. You could play Ms. Pac-Man on actual streets using Google Maps. So, I did what every adult on the planet did: I called up a neighborhood and played. It was great amounts of fun.
What neighborhood did I choose?
The street I grew up on.
When MR N asked me what neighborhood I chose, I told him my childhood home. His face fell a smidgen and asked me, “Is that what you consider home?”
“No, of course not.” I replied. “Our neighborhood is my home.” But it made me pause. If what I said was the truth, then why did I go back home, to my childhood home?
We all want to go back home, to where we grew up, and show up successful, happy and content.
When I left my childhood home all those years ago, no one thought I would be anything. In fact, they all thought I was a head-in-the-cloud young woman with crazy dreams. My school bullies thought I was a nerd and a geek. Boy, did I prove them wrong. 😉
Today, I’m happy to call my neighborhood home and wherever my husband is, that is home. It’s a blissful state because no matter where we live, I’m home. So, no matter what I’m doing during the work day, it’s such a relief to come home every night with spend it with my beloved.
Home is where the heart is. Home should be wherever your heart is, not necessarily where you grew up. You can go home again and every night you do, take a moment and give thanks.