“Home” is weird. Although Orange County is home, I feel at home in Arizona and San Francisco, too. There are parts are me that lived, died, and continue on in those places and those places alone. There are times when I visit Arizona and am flooded with feelings, memories, and experiences that make me feel more home than there anywhere else, and I wouldn’t change that for the world.
Lastly, I’ll drive one more point home leveraging an incredibly cheesy song lyric that’s embarrassingly true: “Home is wherever I’m with you.” Aside from actual physical coordinates, there are absolutely people in my life that are home to me. Take Anthony, Tyler, and Sean. These 3 are home to me. We grew up together and are now roommates and coworkers. No matter where we are, I feel home. One year ago today, the 4 of us were in Thailand together. I remember getting there and feeling so incredibly distraught and far from home. I went into my hotel room bathroom, took a few deep breaths, and remembered who I was with. From that point on, I was completely and utterly home, in a country I’d never been to.
Home is so personal, and yet, it means to many things. Things that make me feel home: my parents, my brothers, my friends, candles, orange county, san francisco, arizona, Christmas, blankets, pretty sunsets, and bright stars. I feel home in a lot of places, with a lot of people, with a lot of things. I love that about home. If your house burns down but you have your family, you’re still home.