For someone that is paid to speak and present and blah blah blah…I’m feeling out of sorts today. For the first time in a very long time I wrote a long missive, spilling thoughts that are tumbling about, emotions and feelings that have me on the edge, revealing insecurities, longing and a desire to hear assurances. Where is this coming from? Is it the convergence of everything? Is it the disconnection that feels like a new normal and unsurmountable? I don’t know. But for the first time in a long time I’ve written one of those missives. The one in which it’s so raw and real that it frightens you to reread it. And so it sits, unsent, in the drafts folder.
Home. What is home? It means different things to people. It isn’t always a structure or a place. It’s most definitely a feeling. You can feel right at home in a city you have never visited before. You can be in the current house of your oldest friend and not be at home. Home. It’s a state of mind. A place where you feel you belong. Where you know with every fiber that you belong. If even in fragmented moments in time.