I was raised by a single mom that moved around often. When my maternal grandparents were alive, we called Arcadia, Florida ‘home’ because that’s where my grandfather built his house. But now, the house is gone and only the land remains.
I’ve lived in many places in my lifetime and I consider New Jersey the most familiar. It’s where I've spent the most time, learned hard lessons, and grew up fast but I'm missing my roots. My anchor. I know the feeling of being "at home" can't be bought; it comes from an intimate relationship between us and our most personal place. It's hard to be an adult and have to say I’m still searching for that.
I believe a home is suppose to be a sanctuary. Home is comfort. Home is inviting. Home is a refuge from the world. Home is cozy, lived in space when your heart can soar. Home is a pair of shoes in the corner, a blanket on the sofa, books and magazines strewn about. Home is where you wear your coziest clothing with only comfort, and never fashion, in mind.
I’m going to have that kind of home one day because I deserve it and my soul is getting to weary looking for it. Days, weeks, and months go by so rapidly, so I have to have a place where I’m surrounded by the simple possessions that make me smile, you know... my favorite things. I need a home filled with my personal touches and sentimental collections. A home should be a secure place where a person is free to enjoy their life and fulfill their potential. Then and only then will Glenda the Good Witch’s chant ring true for me. “There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home.”