No Place Like Home

I had a thought last night while driving home on a cool Austin evening (windows down, Wilco on the iPod).  For the first time in a long while, I felt at home.  This was a bit strange, considering I was in my car (not on the couch reading a book or enjoying a glass of wine with Jason over dinner).  It made me think about my definition of home.  Those who know me know that I've moved 7 times in the past 7 years, and I finally bought my first place about a year ago.  Most of the time I'm happy and the fact that I'm now a home owner (no more renting!) makes me feel more secure.  Sometimes, however, I feel trapped.  These recurring thoughts come back to me...of grabbing up all my books, music, dog, a bag of clothes, and my favorite boy...loading up the car and breaking free.  Or, I start wondering how quickly I can pay down my mortgage, so I can move somewhere new, somewhere different.  It's weird...I love my little condo, but sometimes...

It brings to mind a comment my father made a few months ago.  We were visiting his hometown of La Prior, TX (the first time, for me).  My Dad drove us past the house he lived in as a young boy, and we visited the cemetery where my Grandfather (whom I never met) is buried.  Dad proceeded to tell us that after they moved from La Prior to Corpus Christi, they moved about once a year after that.  Why?  "Because Mimi (grandma) never could quite seem to get settled in a place.  She was restless."  I didn't say anything at the time, but this really stuck with me...because it's exactly how I feel. 

So, back to last night...I started thinking, maybe "home" for me isn't a place.  Maybe it's a feeling I get when I hear a certain song, or when the air smells like Fall and there's this energy in the air that makes me feel like change is coming.  It's the way my dog's paws smell in the morning, when he's still lounging in bed, or the sound of fingers sliding across the strings of an acoustic guitar.  It's the feeling of a good hug from Jason...my Dad's whistle...the Christmas tree at Mom's house...Matt's contagious laugh, or watching Jeff's eyes welling up at his wedding.  It's a high school marching band practicing down the street early in the morning...a good run on a cool morning...church bells, seagulls, waves.  I can take these with me anywhere I go..and that feels like home.