I used to think "home" was where I grew up and where I spent most of my life. That somehow - living there longer than anywhere else - made it home. But after almost 3 weeks there over the holidays, I realized that my hometown really isn't my "home" anymore.
My parents are there. My niece and nephew. Aunts, uncles, cousins. My grandparents are buried there. My high school. My college. My first job. Someone who has become one of my best friends lives there. The houses where I grew up and the first one I bought. My ex-friends and my ex-husband. Basically everything that shaped the first 28 years of my life is still there. Right where I left it.
But it's not home anymore.
My home is here. With my husband and the family we have created with our girls and a wonderful group of neighbors and friends. Where I gave birth to my twins. Where we have created a beautiful home in a beautiful part of the country. Where I finally decided what I wanted to do for a living.
This is home. And after 19 days away, I'm really glad to be back.
