Home is undeniable. It is the call of what was once wild within, the scent of salt and burnt skin. We find ourselves home more often than we thought we would considering we're two people who live across the country.
What is it that calls, that echo's and pulls us back to the horizon?
The light? Sure. Of course. It's in the colorless sand and the transparent waters. It is also the drumming of an old heart, the memory of youth who once were. And it's our families. Our mothers and fathers and brothers and grandmother and nieces and aunts and cousins. And it's our other family, those bound not by blood but choice.
There will always be Thailand, Iceland, Vietnam. There will always be the places we want to go, South America, BVI's, Burma, New Zealand... and those places will be beautiful to touch, to taste. But home, our place by the edge of the ocean, no matter how how I might try to deny it, will forever be our epicenter.
One day, perhaps, if we're lucky to stay put for longer than 6 months or a couple of years, perhaps we will start to build a new sense of place - a new version of the 'home' our parents and the land curated for us. This idea brings me comfort. Maybe it we will land by the ocean. Or in the woods. Or side a creek, or on a backroad going to the sun. Who knows right? who can tell?
I suspect though, if I'm to be honest, that it might also smell of salt and burnt skin. Perhaps we will run barefoot and sun kissed with the family we might create like we did when we were young. Perhaps it will be all or none of these things.
I find comfort in the unknown. It use to paralyze me, but now, and maybe this feeling should be attributed to the high brought on by traveling across the world, it is a point of comfort - that understanding that the bad will pass and the good should be relished for as long as it stays.