Monday, July 9, 2007
I'm currently reading a book about a man who moved to New Zealand, taking his young family with him. What I've gathered so far, he pretty much fell in love with the place shortly after arriving in Auckland. He's talked a lot about what "home" means to him and times he didn't feel he was home even when he was physically at home. Got that? That got me thinking ... I felt at home where I grew up until I got married. My dh and I started feeling like we were no longer at home but we didn't know where "home" was. So we went looking - north. We knew we preferred trees and water. Interestingly enough, the author in this book I'm reading says that people often prefer trees and water, some sort of ancient survival instinct. Anyway, when we settled on the place we are now living, it felt like home, in a lot of ways. It took awhile. And now, when I return to visit the place I was born, it definitely no longer feels like home. No question. I no longer belong there. And yet ... there are times I don't feel like I'm home even when I'm sitting in my home. The wandering spirit - I definitely have that. In theory, anyway. I love to travel via books. Real travel is a bit more perilous. Scary. I love to read travel books. I guess I admire those that take their wandering spirits and go. Maybe someday I'll do that. Actually, I did do that - when we moved here 16 years ago. Maybe it's time to move again.