That is a question I have thought about often.  I think there can be many answers to this question.  Home can be a feeling, a place, a memory…

I have moved many times – several of them coast to coast – and I’ve been left longing for a sense of belonging, a sense of “home”.  But I’ve also been afforded opportunities to start to discover a home within myself – a place of rest and acceptance, somewhere I feel safe and comfortable.

This home that I carry with me, I feel it in small moments, like this, sipping a cappuccino on a park bench, surrounded by plants, looking out over the water, with the sun warming my back:

When I think of it this way, suddenly I start thinking of all the places and moments I have felt at home… running along the California coast in Monterey in the late afternoon:

In this coffee shop in Los Angeles with free wifi, a quiet space upstairs, and a desk with a lamp where I could work undisturbed for hours:

Taking a this loaf of bread made from my mom’s recipe out of the oven, memories of my childhood rushing to my mind as the aroma enveloped me:

Home is so much bigger than the walls of a building, and at the same time it can be found in the smallest thing.  Each new place I discover home I find joy.  And just as I wrote that I was struck with a realization about that statement – because, you see, my middle name is Joy. 🙂