It use to be a rather simple question. A few years back I could spit out an answer in just a few seconds. “I’m from Reno, Nevada and I live in a house/apartment/condo in this part of the city.” Bam! Done.
The more and more we travel the harder the question becomes to answer. Just the other day we stopped for a quick lunch while we were on the road. A man in the restaurant asked us where we all were from. I was speechless for a moment not quite sure how to answer that question. Where am I from? Where do I call home?… nowhere.
My brother was quick to respond, “Everywhere.”
I think his answer is more suited. It is not that I feel like I don’t have a home, but it is more that there is not a place I feel like I would call home. We have a cabin out in the woods, but it is not home. It is more like a fun vacation retreat. We have a sailboat at a marina, but I am so detached from the place that I would never call it my home.
One of the bright sides though is that I never get home sick. I may feel a longing to go visit a place, like our cabin in the woods, but it is never a depressing feeling that I am utterly “home sick”.
We travel a lot because we want to. If we stay in one spot to long I actually get really anxious. I want to go see the world. I want to be from “Everywhere.”