Home: A Love Letter from a Traveler

In most travel blogs, home isn't mentioned. It's all about the absence of home. Always in the background of travels, whether near or far, is the idea of home as anchor. Sometimes the anchor is a refuge, a place to return when the big bad world chews you up and spits you out. Home is safe. Home is familiar. Home is comfortable. Home is putting on cozy socks and a hoodie at the end of a chaotic day that, no matter how wonderful or exciting it may have been, has worn you out. Other times, home is an anchor that drags you down, keeps you in place, makes you a lotus-eater where inertia can take hold.

As most of the people in my life know, I'm a bit of a vagabond, a wanderer. Growing up, my family moved around A LOT--Washington, DC, New Jersey, Georgia, Virginia, Florida. And then as an adult out on my own, I also moved around many times. Most of the places I've lived have been more house than home. Later, I became we and even as a we, I've never pictured myself buying the dream house we would retire and live out our days in and welcome future grandchildren to. Buy a house, sell a house, pack our things, move. I don't really get too nostalgic about all of that. My approach is more practical and logistical, with the added perk of having an excuse to cull our things and get rid of clutter. Not that I'm emotionless. When we left cities where we lived for a few or more than a few years, it's not always been easy to leave certain things or people behind. We have lived back in California for almost 20 years and I still salivate for Anthony's Pizza (deep dish OF COURSE) and Washtenaw Dairy (pro tip--get the lemon custard) in Ann Arbor, Michigan. I miss being so close to the Big House that we could hear the crowd cheer during a Michigan home football game. And the donuts, apple cider and pure wholesomeness embodied by Curtis Orchard in Champaign, Illinois. And the fall leaves and the house shaking thunderstorms. So very, very many wonderful memories. To say nothing of the dear friends we met and have kept to this day.

I don't usually get so schmoopy (Seinfeld reference for any young'uns reading this) with my writing but this is a departure (sorry not sorry about the pun) from my usual post.

So. Home. Home for me isn't a structure. It's not a house, dwelling, apartment, condo, abode. It's a person. One of the best things about getting older is that you hit certain milestones you didn't even realize you had. Ol Blue Eyes (Frank Sinatra, young'uns) said it best, "Out of the tree of life, I just picked me a plum." My love, my life, the one I wake to every morning (usually because he is breathing on my neck--eye roll), my better half, my best friend, my partner, my sweetheart.......is my home. My anchor. It was recently pointed out by our son that we have been together for longer than we lived apart before we met.

I moved from Los Angeles to Ann Arbor to Champaign and back to California with Dmitri. Since 2017, we have lived in 5 different houses in the Los Angeles area and countless places over our 13 months on the road circling the globe. We have seriously considered (gotten job offers) moving to San Francisco, New York City, Boston, Cyprus, Brisbane, Australia and Singapore. And the fact remains that it is not the structure I call home, but the man.

Many crocheted pillows and fridge magnets proclaim that home is where the heart is and mine is with you, my darling husband. Thank you for making the entire world our home. Thank you for picking me to go on adventures with, for never giving up on me or us, for dealing with my crazy, for taking care of me when I'm sick, for laughing at or with me, for giving the actual best hugs of anyone I know, for being whip smart but still having the grace to admit I'm smarter. Thank you for taking me around the world for the first time on our honeymoon and the second time with our children. Thank you for sharing the dream of going where the wind, and our whims, blow us.

Thank you also for sharing with me two of the greatest humans I know. And for helping me turn them into true wanderlusts. They will one day fly the nest but no matter where in the world they (or we) end up, they can can always find home. You anchor this family.

Babe, I would go anywhere in the world with you. Except Egypt. We can never go back there.

Alia Jacta Est. I lift a bellini and toast you, our crazy adventures, and the crossing of many, many more Rubicons together.