“Where we love is home – home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts.” – Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.
I’ve lived in so many places—it’s hard to tell where I’m truly from at this point. Have I lived on the East Coast? West Coast? Midwest? The answer to all three is yes. I have so many memories from everywhere I’ve lived, and there have parts of all these places that could make me want to lay down roots forever—and some memories that would drive me away.
But as I get older—my memories begin to tell a different story. As I sit in casual conversation at parties with friends and new acquaintances, or sit down to write a hand-written letter about my experiences—I realize that I remember the things I love the most about the places I have been.
I remember where I fell in love for the first time—and the second. I remember where I was with friends as we shared unforgettable adventures. I remember where I was when I decided what I want to do with my life. I love and cherish all these places. I draw upon all these small, but poignant memories—because they have made me who I am in every way that people say the place you come from will shape you.
It’s in this complex map of reveries that I realize my home is all the places I love—and never one place. While I may move about this Earth with the freedom that our modern day provides, I will always love the places I have been, and the places where I have left a piece of my heart. Where we love it home—home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts.