I’m traveling to Tulsa today. Heading home (and posting this from my mobile). This is the longest I’ve ever been away and I feel something like a swallow returning to Capistrano.
Home. It’s more than just a word describing the place we live. It’s a uniquely English word that’s difficult to translate in other languages.
No other word carries the warmth and comfort and acceptance that ‘home’ does. It’s structure and security. The sense of belonging. Casa or Maison may come close, but they don’t convey the same emotion as our word ‘home.’
Right now, I find myself craving familiarity. I’m a pioneer by nature. I love the new adventure, the yawning horizon. But that doesn’t mean I don’t yearn for the friendly familiar faces of my home.
Being a stranger in a strange land is exhilarating. But it can also be exhausting. Right now, I’m weary of the new thing. I’m ready for the old thing.
I’m ready to be home.
You might be interested to learn that the French say ‘chez moi’ when they mean ‘home,’ but the phrase can also mean, ‘in my opinion’, or something like that.