Home is Where the Heart Lies

      Home: noun. Definition? Google dictionary defines it as a place where one lives permanently, but the more I move around, the more I realize that the literal definition for home could not be any further away from what a home is. Through the last five years I’ve moved to 6 different places that would fall under the definition of home- a place where I was permanently residing. And for times they all felt like home- they all had my bed and my books, my family and my pets and all of my belongings but there’s something about these places that just weren’t.... home. Home is not defined by where you live, but where your heart lives. There are cities I’ve never been to and people I’ve never met but I know my home lies in others, and my home lies in objects, and my home lies in places- my home does not lie where I do.

     The concept of a home is breezed over far too often, caused by man’s obsessive desire for more; more money. Man is a greedy species, we take and we take and we often forget to give, to appreciate, and to admire. I’ve met people who cannot appreciate, people who have everything- money, family, success, love, yet they cannot take the moment to realize that just because their boss yelled at them, or gas went up a few cents does not define how their life is. I’ve met these people who cannot bear to come to terms with the fact that their lives are ideal and joyful yet they cannot be joyful because they have so much misconception. Yet I’ve met people with nothing at all yet they are so fulfilled with their lives. A man on the streets with no money for food or clothes or to put a roof over his head can be the happiest of us all, because he is living for himself. I’ve seen a man who lives not for the government, not for his boss, not as a slave to himself but as a friend to himself. A man on the streets knows that his home is not in greed, but the universe itself.

     I’ve met a girl who has found a home in art; by the way the paint strokes on a canvas and the scratch of a pencil on a pad. She finds comfort in it; she has confidence that when she places a brush or pencil or charcoal in her hand that she will do wondrous things with it. She has found a home within the colours on the canvas, and for her that is as good as any place to permanently reside.

     I envy these people because I’ve yet to find my home, reasonable enough though, considering most people never even search for theirs at all.  It’s an absurd idea really, and you may never realize that a home is not a building with your bed and your belongings- and you may enjoy your life full of longing and greed for things you can never fulfill. But if you understand that your home is all around, waiting to be found, I hope you have the courage to go look for it. Some people may find their home as life goes on without even trying to find it, some may find it in family- such as children or parents, cousins or siblings. For others it may be more complicated to find.  It may take years, you may have to travel to dozens of cities to eventually find it in a little coffee shop downtown Paris, or tiny boat docked in San Francisco. You may find home in the children in Africa or the villages in Haiti, you may find it in your university library, or the rain in England, or a ski lodge in Vermont. You might look for weeks or you may look for years but no matter what I hope you find it.

      Who knows how long it will take me to find my home, it could be anywhere. But for now, I’m perfectly happy with my houses, my permanent places of residence; where I can go “home” to my family and pets and bed and belongings. I’m comfortable with my school and my friends, my gym, my coffee shops and my malls. Because for now that’s all I know as home, and it’s a pretty good replacement to grow up in. And when I do find my home, I will always still have this moment.