From this morning’s writing exercise:
Home. Is it where I live? Is it New York City? A hotel room somewhere out there? I’m not sure. I guess home is where you can be yourself, where appearances don’t matter, where you can exhale. If that is the case, home is my family.
But if home is a feeling, a sense of peace, of rightness and balance, I’d have to say New York. I always feel right when I am there.
If home is where you are your best self, the you you always want to be, inspired and relaxed and ready for anything, then home is that hotel room.
And if home is that cozy corner of the world where all your stuff is, where you feel clean and comfortable and safe, then right here is home.
Home, I guess, is whatever you make it. Wherever you are. Maybe home isn’t a place but a feeling. Being comfortable in your own skin is always being home no matter where you are.
