Josh and I took the same plane back to see our families in Indianapolis last night. We were picked up at the airport by my aunt and uncle, then whisked off to a huge family dinner at a restaurant downtown. It was great seeing the whole gang, if a little overwhelming for all the competing, loving attentions of everyone. I will be here for the next week and am looking forward to hanging out with everyone and catching up. I have fortunately finished up most of the huge amount of work I had over the past couple of weeks, so I should be able to relax most of the time while here.
On the train to the airport, Josh and I had an interesting little conversation about the idea of going back “home”. Although my family is here and I love them dearly, I haven’t had the feeling that this place was “home” for me in a very long time. Josh still does feel it, and he surmised that perhaps because his parents still live in the same house he grew up in, the collected memories through all those years remain somewhat more tangible. In my family, even while growing up here we moved houses four times, and they have moved three more times since I left over twenty years ago. That probably does have an effect on my memories of this place, and thus vague feelings of familiarity from childhood that might impart that feeling. Then again, I have no longing for childhood, it wasn’t an especially graceful time in my life. I am much happier as an adult, for so many reasons, and have always felt that “home” was more a place in one’s heart than a specific location in the world. And on that score, I am always at home, everywhere that there are people I love and who love me.