Find Yourself in the Comfort of Home

I used to think home was a place

A bed to sleep in, food in the kitchen

Material things

As I became older, "home" was defined as wherever I was staying that night

I find this to be a more apt description as

Home is wherever I am

I cling to this idea, that I belong to me

Although as I get wiser, this rings less true

Now I have two kittens at home who cry for sardines and steak

Two sisters who call me every morning to spill the latest tea and workplace drama

Two families as I’ve adopted my husband’s parents, his sisters, as my own

I realize that my family is now spread across the world

Tucked away in Missouri, Algeria, France, and Hawaii

Each plane ride takes me into a new day, flies me under the moon and the sun

I don’t belong to myself anymore

I don’t have a place I can call home

My home is scattered like ashes, taking me in every direction

And yet, I feel more whole than I ever have before

Home, to me, isn’t a place, a person or an idea

It’s everything that I’ve ever been

And everything I ever will be