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Home isn’t always just “where the heart is”.

For some, home is often that safe space where they can feel lighter and less compressed. For others, home is where their loved ones are. Home can be that space where the madness of the world and the compression of modern life can be kept at-bay for a little while. It can hold spaces of reflection, peace, and thoughtfulness.

In many ways, I wasn’t lucky enough to have a space like this growing up. The majority of my time was spent on a computer, with my nose in some kind of book, or skateboarding around the city I lived in at the time. There were no sports or extra-cirricular activites, nothing was truly peaceful, and what I believed mattered at the time all existed in that magical place of “18-and-over”.

College, friends, meaningful activities and conversations–all of these things were beyond my grasp. I was a person born far too late for what I felt I wanted to do. Parents didn’t understand me, instructors thought I was a know-nothing wise-ass, and most peers in my age group wanted nothing to do with me.

For me, I’ve been forced to reconsider what the real meaning of the word “home” is. I’ve lived in my head for so long that being “at home with myself” means quite literally being alone. I do what I can to fill the spaces with work and physical activity, but even that only goes so far.

Home isn’t just where the heart is, it’s where someone can be one-and-whole without reservation or condition. It’s an elusive place–hard-to-find and even harder to keep.

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