I am currently sitting at 45,000 feet, somewhere above the Rockies, racing west. I’m heading back to our home base in the city by the bay from a 5-day visit to see my brother and his family in Virginia. I am a new auntie to a sweet baby boy, and I had been looking forward to seeing him (and my brother and sister-in-law) for a good while. He is the only grandchild on my side of the family, and I have such an immense amount of love for the little chunk after just 4 months of knowing him. To say my time there was wonderful would be dramatically understating it. Being away from family is the one (and only) thing that makes nomadic living difficult; spending five uninterrupted days with some of the my favorite people in the world was perfect.
We spent our time hiking in Shenandoah National Park, trail running (oh, how I’ve missed running with my brother), cooking delicious meals, carving pumpkins, trick or treating, and covering my sweet nephew with kisses. When they dropped me off at the Washington Dulles airport, I kept tearfully reminding myself that there is only 42 more days until I see them again. Get at me, December 13th, I’m so ready for you!
You would think that after being crammed in a small tin box with each other for eight straight weeks, Brandon and I would have been ready for some time apart. Well…I guess time apart just isn’t our thing! We talked every day, and missed each other constantly. We kept laughing about how we should (by most standards) enjoy taking a break from one another, but I am so thankful that we don’t. On the upside, Brandon was able to get a few projects done that he had been putting off, and spent Halloween with our new (but dear) friends who were in San Francisco for the weekend.
How very strange it is to be flying back to a city that I have never called home, where my home and my love are both waiting for me. The sense of identity we create through identifying with where we live and where we’re from runs so deep that it is difficult to see beyond it sometimes. My concept of home has certainly shifted, however. I consider Brandon and the trailer my home, and I still consider Salt Lake my home. Part of my “home” is now living in a small corner of Virginia as well. “Home” is wherever we travel, and wherever my loved ones are. To the person who said, “You can never go home” — your concept of home must not be the same as mine. I go home whenever I am with my family and whenever I travel to a new place.
“My heart wants roots. My mind wants wings. I cannot bear their bickerings.” E. Y. Harburg