Dorothy was on to something

There really is no place like home.

I've always considered myself somewhat of a rolling stone.  While most of my family and friends have lived in the same state all their lives and rarely leave it, I left home at the ripe old age of 17 and began a journey of not living in the same state for more than a year or two that has lasted nearly a decade now (damn, I'm getting old). 

I spent summers traveling to different countries, and then traveling all throughout those countries; I picked up my whole life and moved from one coast to the other on a whim. I pride myself on being a "road warrior", having spent the night in over 40 states, and never needing even a day's notice to be ready for a weekend adventure to another timezone.  I even joined the military with the (completely idealistic) notion that traveling and relocating would be part of my contractual obligation.  Traveling is the only passtime I can ever think of when I fill out a questionnaire that asks "What are your hobbies?"  Because, sadly, I do nothing else exciting or fulfilling with my life.

And while I always came home after a month or three away, I always thought the only thing I was missing was my family (and friends). So three years ago, when my parents (and nephew) relocated to Dallas from Richmond, I started to consider "home", their new house.

After all, home is where the heart is, right? And I know my heart belongs to a little boy in a wheelchair, so when I thought I was feeling "homesick", I figured I was just missing him.

But recently, it occured to me that the feeling I had been experiencing all that time wasn't homesickness at all.  I was feeling "whatever the noun is for really missing someone who's not at home".  They really need to make a good noun for that.  Homesickness. is what I'm feeling right now. 

It's been 1 year and 4 months since I've stepped foot in the state of Virginia.  And for the most part, I've seen many of the people I used to go "home" to see within that time frame (although there are many I have not seen and miss terribly).  What is really making me heartbroken to the point of figurative illness is this longing I have for the smells, the tastes, the feelings, the sounds, the general existence of being in the place from which I came.  The place that made me who I am today.  The church I was raised in, the preacher I grew up with, the streets I ran down, the restaurants I ate at, the familiar faces I got used to, the house(s) I grew up in, and every other prepositional phrase that the teachers who taught me in the schools that shaped me would shake their finger at me for using in succession like that.  I. miss. home.

There's something really essential to the healing of our souls in not only remembering where you come from, but in every once in awhile, going back there.  And I'm thinking it's about time - as a matter of fact, it's way overdue - that I go home.

Homesickness is a real thing.  And it has a lot to do with the PEOPLE you call home.  But it also has to do with the PLACE you mention when people ask you, "Where are you from?"

There's no place like home. 

Isn't it ironic that I had to come to Kansas to figure that one out? =)