What is home? Is it a building? A location? A feeling? I've had a touchy relationship with the word, especially in the past 12 years because I left home. I made a break, a messy break with home after my senior year of high school. I knew my path was taking me to Oral Roberts University and Tulsa of all places. The world was full of the unknown and promise so I packed up my car and sped toward my future.
Despite a miserably failed long distance relationship and the occasional e-mail to a few of my high school friends, the only connection I had to my home was my unashamed love for Tampa sports teams and my driver's license. I was going forward, making new friends and a new life. For whatever reason, my gut told me that my life wasn't in Tampa anymore and I was fine.
In recent years I got a new itch to reconnect with where I grew up. perhaps it was observing Marie with her family in all their Granite State Pride glory, or a salmon like return home urge brought on by the arrival of our first child. I'm so glad I did. There is something deep happening in my heart here. At the risk of emotional exhibitionism, I wonder if I am finally able to heal from things I was too young and too busy to deal with. Things slow down for me here, mentally and spiritually. I have a hunch that G-d's speaking to me about home. He's teaching me what it is as I reaquaint myself with this place like an old friend.

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