It has taken me a long time to realize my usage of home is a little scewed. I use the word home to refer to any place I will spend the night whether that is my house, your house, a hotel in San Diego, an apartment in London, or a tent. “Let’s go home” basically means I’m ready to crawl into any bed I don’t have to get out of.
For me home isn’t and never has been a place. Home isn’t a state of mind either. Home is a person.
Home is the place where I feel safest, the most loved, the most accepted, and the most understood. Home is where I can be bitchy. Home is where I can be silly. Home is where I can say anything. Home is where I get an honest opinion. Home is where I am teased mercilessly. Home is where I have intellectual debates. Home is where I lose every argument, even when I’m right. Home is where my bad decisions are accepted. Home is where I can be wrong and it’s ok. Home is where I don’t have to pick up the pieces myself. Home is where I have a partner. Home is where I don’t feel alone.
My biggest fear is that I have already lost my home forever.