From the day I moved into the college dorm my freshman year until the day of my wedding I lived the life of a nomad.
From dorm rooms to summer housing on campus to an apartment to a spare room to sharing a room with a six year old (who is turning 20 this year…yowch), I moved around a whole lot. Some days I wondered why I ever unpacked my boxes just to load them up again after a handful of months.
I went years without having a place that truly felt like home.
But then after my wedding I stepped into the home my husband had bought for us. I remember standing in the living room, knowing that I didn’t have to move any time soon. That I belonged in that house.
I’d found home.
In A Trail of Crumbs, my soon-to-release novel, Pearl and her family are uprooted from their home. They have to travel over a thousand miles away to stay in the spare rooms until they can find a place of their own.
It’s in this book that you’ll meet Gus Seegert (you’ll love him, I just know it). At one point he speaks of why he never went back to where he was from after so many years of being gone.
“I found home here,” he says.
When I typed those lines for Gus, I had the same anchored feeling that I experienced the day of my wedding. And I feel it again as I sit here writing this post.
I found home.
And it’s amazing.
What about you? Do you remember ever having a concrete sense of home? I’d love to hear your story.