On the meaning of home

“Where is home?” This question has been haunting me for years now. I haven’t lived anywhere for more than three years since I was 13,

and even during those three year periods in some places, I’ve changed apartments or homes. I’ve lived at more than ten addresses in the last ten years alone.

For many people, the answer to that question is very often simple; home is where they grew up or where they currently live. I can’t say that’s true in my case. I’ve lived in places where I did not feel at home and I’ve been to places where I felt at home even though I didn’t live there. I’ve seen other answers to this question — “home isn’t a place, it’s a feeling”, “home is where your people are”, and many others along those lines.

I’d like to reframe that question — what does home mean to me? Home to me means any place I feel connected to my truest self. It’s where I can breathe. It’s where I can physically relax without any awareness that I was previously tense. It’s a place that feels instinctively familiar even without me being there previously. Home is love.