I Am Home

When I’m on a jet next to a stranger, and he shares with me his tragedies, I am home.

When I hear humans singing in unison, without regard to race, gender, religion, sexuality, or politics, I am home.

When I listen to the uncontrollable laughter of my children, I am home.

When I enter into a new hospital and see unfamiliar faces that are future comrades, I am home.

When I hold the hand of a dying patient, and see serenity in her smiling eyes, I am home.

When I seek to maintain relationships with friends in different ZIP Codes, I am home.

When I smell like a damp bag of armpits in a Diaper Genie from a five-day road trip without a shower, I am home.

When I tipsy stroll down a street without lights, from the local bar to the bed and breakfast, in a town I’ve never visited, I am home.

When I contemplate barefoot and the ocean walks beside me, I am home.

When a hotel room is my primary residence, I am home.

Home isn’t a place, or a time, or a person. Home is a state of mind. When you can sit with this moment, whenever, wherever, whatever it is, without judgement or regret, you are home.


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