This morning, as I was thinking about this trip and the numerous items I still have to do (finish packing, change bedding for our guest, confirmations, notes to school…) some of our family trips blipped through my memory banks and I thought about conversations I’ve had with my children about home.
The expression everyone knows is “Home is where the heart is.” And yet, I’ve always believed that home is where I am.
We have traveled frequently throughout these past fifteen years, mostly short weekend jaunts, with a few weeklong events thrown in here and there.
Often, when were traveling, my children would ask when we were going to eat or swim in the hotel pool, or visit a particular place.
I would reply something like this, “When we get back home,” or “We’re going home to change, then we’re going out to eat.”
At first, this confused my children. “Home? But I didn’t think we were going home for one more day.”
But after many conversations, I think that they, too, have finally come to realize that home is where we are.
This is something I’ve done without thought or intent, but I feel it is an important detail to adapt into our lives.
If we are comfortable wherever we are—be it a luxury suite, a cramped hotel room, or sleeping in tiny twin beds at a friend’s house—if we take our hearts with us, then we are always home.
I am excited to see what awaits in my modest, temporary homes in Paris, Zurich, and the heart of Italy…
Soon…
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