Home

I've been reading a series of posts on La Belette Rouge about how people define Home, and started thinking about what Home means to me.

Home is walking in the front door after work and being greeted by my cats. It's sitting on the couch and doing a little reading before I start supper. Maybe even having a quick nap, just because I can.

Home is the feeling of unquestionable belonging.

It's where I can be and feel and express everything exactly as it is. I don't have to try to make a good impression on anyone. If I'm watching a sad movie and blow through a whole box of tissues (pun intended) I don't have to feel self-conscious.

Home is where I can just be.

Home is where good conversations happen. I'm fortunate to have a roommate who is also a friend, and a very gracious one at that. I'm a bit of a talker and she's heard pretty much everything I have to say on every subject you can imagine. And she's still my friend.

Home is where all my dreams begin, and the place I will always come back to.

It's where I can laugh well beyond the point of decency, without feeling like I should really get it together because people are starting to look.

Home is where I work through the difficult times; where I can voice my fears and gather the courage to face them.

At the end of the day,

Home is where I want to be.