About

32Some years ago, I sat with a friend in my parents’ California living room, talking about the possibility of living “somewhere else.” I said that I could probably live anywhere and be happy.  (I handily left out the fact that I’d never moved in my entire life and had no idea what I was talking about.)  She squinted and said, “I see you as a kind of vagabond homebody.”  I liked the idea of being a vagabond; it was exciting and I had always dreamed of travel, of not caring where my next shower came from or which fancy European cafe I’d try next.  But the “homebody” part bothered me.  I decided to ignore it.

I’m 25 now, and I’ve been living “somewhere else” for six years.  I still dream of travel, but always in the context of coming back Home, whatever that mythical word means.  I do care where my next shower comes from, and I don’t have money for fancy European cafes.  And bothersome or not, the “homebody” part of me can’t be ignored.  I like having a place.  I’m in love with the mythical word Home.  I think I probably always will be.

This blog is a little corner of my new life – somewhere to process and put things while I work out what it means to build a home wherever life lands me. I’m grateful that you’re here!  Thanks for reading and thinking with me.

All the best to you and yours, in all the places you inhabit.

Laura

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