Home is where the heart is
There’s no place like home
Home, home, home on the range
…

“Home” used to be an absolute term for me. It was simply where you lived. Sure, other places felt like home, but home was always where you laid your head most nights, where your keepsakes were stored, where your favorite slippers were.

Last winter, after months of being on our new “home”, I still referred to going back to the U.S. as going “home”. When I talked about returning to Spain, I said that we were going back to the boat.

Now “home” is more of a relative term for me. I pause for a moment when talking with someone about going to the U.S. or coming back to Sicily, for now the term “home” has different contexts. Frankly it’s a bit bothersome. “We’re back home in a couple of weeks.” “Oh, you’ll be back here in the marina in December?” “No, I mean we’re going to the U.S. in a couple of weeks.” “We’ll be back home in March.” See what I’m saying?

Although it may be bothersome, it’s also quite astonishing to me. Yes, of course, it’s logical that I’d start to talk about the boat as a home but somehow I didn’t expect to feel like it was home. Home as in where the heart is. But low and behold At Last has become my true home.