As our Great Sister Adventure continued, my sister and I were talking today about the whole idea of “home”. Is “home” the place you were born, where you lived with your parents, or live currently? As with many things, our opinions differed, but only slightly.
When asked, “Where is home?” I generally answer with some version of “Home is Arroyo Grande, but I live in Visalia.” When pushed, I tell them I was born in Tucson, Arizona, and being on the desert makes my heart sing. Strangely enough, I only actually lived in Arroyo Grande for seven years — from the end of seventh grade until I finished junior college and moved to attend Fresno State (where my 2-year stay lasted 12 years). Next month will be my 32nd anniversary of moving to Visalia, which is a lovely place to live, and my daughter was born and raised here, but it still isn’t home. Home is Mom and Daddy’s house, or at least the town where that house is. Home is permanence.
My sister — a California girl through and through — moved to Ohio ten years ago. She said for many years it felt disloyal to refer to Ohio as “home”, because Arroyo Grande was “home”. But she finally realized that it was okay to have more than one home, that for her, Ohio was home, and so was Arroyo Grande.
We are both dreaming of making another special “part-time home” in Hawaii. When or how it may happen is anyone’s guess, but the possibility is there. I know that the tropical breezes and warm ocean waters calm my soul in amazing ways, and to have a place to stay for more than a few days at a time would be glorious.
What about you? Are you living “at home”, or are you just where you ended up? As Dorothy said in “The Wizard of Oz”, “There’s no place like home!”