I think one of the most fantastic things about travelling, is coming home with a new appreciation and new eyes on how good home is, and how good home feels. And I had an absolutely wonderful time in the mountains. My time in the mountains cemented in me the feeling that I may even want to spend a good portion of my retirement years in the mountains. Still, as I sit in my comfortable writing nook, as the Florida sunshine gleams in from every window, trying to make its way into every corner of our house that it possibly can, I feel so good. I feel so grateful. I feel so refreshed.
When you come home from a trip, your own bed holds you in a comforting embrace like no other. Your familiar things pop out at you, like adoring fans, quietly shimmering and shaking their hands to get your attention. I think that you harmonize with your home in such a natural way that you don’t even realize it, until you take a little break from the synchronicity of it all. And then you come home, and you fit yourself into that little empty space of the puzzle, and all is well. Everything feels right. The picture is complete. The magnetic pull between you and all of your familiar things and sounds and scents and surroundings, keeps your own little private galaxy dazzling, and afloat. I realize that I have big love for home and I thank my intermittent trips for reminding me of that fact.
