I am happy to be home.
I’ve said before that I don’t feel like I have a home, that all my searching and questing has been to find some sense of a home in life, or at the very least, inside myself.
As my plane was making its descent tonight, I glimpsed the Chicago skyline through my window. Before I could think or stop myself, I said aloud, “This is home.” Then I laughed, a joyful sound that bubbled out of me as spontaneously as the words that preceded it.
I have a home, and it is here.
I spent my evening with my best friend in my old neighborhood. Now, I am going to sleep in my nephew’s twin bed that my sister slept in as a little girl.
I will think about the future later. Later, I will consider the implications of what I felt in the air above this city, and as I then walked its streets. For this week, I simply intend to enjoy being exactly where I am–home.