It's a funny word, home. So many meanings in just four letters.
Home can be a person.
The people who make you your heart feel content. Not necessarily giddy with butterflies [though that's always a bonus], but at peace.
The kind of peace that makes your bad days suck a little bit less and the good ones that much better.
Home can be a place.
A house, a city, the view from the top of a mountain.
Even if it's not technically your home, it will feel like it. Feel like you just...belong.
Because sometimes even your home doesn't feel like home.
Home can be a state of mind.
Like when you get done with a giant project and you're left with a sense of accomplishment.
Or when you stop in the middle of a really good day only to realize you're incandescently happy.
Home is what you make it.
I've straddled the line between miserable and happy and sad for the past year and finally things are starting to settle down. Life is starting to make sense and I'm starting to realize that it has been too much about stuff and not enough about what truly makes me happy.
I've been in the mindset that if I have this or that or something or other that I'll finally be happy. But it's bullshit.
All I need in my life is home.
I need my people and my mind and a place to sit down and read a good book.