Yesterday we woke up in Barcelona. Today finds us back in Asheville, the place we often refer to as home, though we have not lived here for over two years now. I keep trying to tell myself that home is where you make it, to be satisfied with where I am in each moment and be at home there. Sometimes I remember this, to make my home wherever I am, even when sitting in the cramped seat of an airplane. I close my eyes, pay attention to my breath, and fall into the hum of white noise that seem to be ever present when sitting on a plane. I pay attention as the other sounds recede into the background and a slight smile purses my lips as I relax into the moment, the moment of just being on a plane, alive and well. Yes, this too can feel like home.
Based on a journal entry from 7.5.12