Where Is Home?

Thursday was weird. My brain had no interest focusing on any set task (not completely un-normal for me). I almost lost my cool to fits of tears multiple times (also not completely un-normal), and my stress level rose dangerously high when I came home to discover that the dog had consumed an entire container of coconut macaroons, macaroons that were covered in chocolate (chocolate is death to dogs. Thank goodness Stella was fine).

The highlight of my day was riding my turquoise beach cruiser bicycle along the Hermosa Beach Strand, catching the orange and pink streaks of evening sun as it dipped below the Pacific Blue. I breathed deeply, savoring my last day in Southern California.

Where was my anxious spirit coming from? I guess I had an eventful week, but was it really any different from any of my other weeks? I always cram my time full of projects and things, days off more hectic than work days with travel planning, and packing for this or that trip. It’s a life that I love, but it’s fortunate that I am young, cause the constant activity is emotionally draining.

It hit me on Thursday, that just one week earlier, I was sitting at Red Salt Restaurant  in Poipu, Kauai, a day before that, I snorkeled with sea turtles at Hanauma Bay on Oahu, and less than ten hours after returning to the mainland, I jetted up to Oakland, California with only hours to decide if I would move up to The Bay Area. Who does this?! Then back to LA with three recovery days, (that’s a lot of free time) and off to Florida for a month.

I’ve been wondering recently that if I am gone all the time, where is my home? My driver’s license calls Mom and Dad’s address as home. I refer to where I grew up, and where I live now, both as home, which can get semi-confusing during conversations, but where do I belong?

Some people say that home is with the people who matter most.

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And then I was going to move? hmmm…why? Because I’m young, and single, and I can do what I want. Because I said years ago that I would move to The Bay. Because I fear becoming too comfortable in one place. But what if that’s what I need- comfortable?

When I was in Berkeley, sitting at a bakery cafe, I realized all I wanted to do was go home. And, the question of moving was no longer a question, for my answer was clear, transparent and unavoidable. Berkeley is a nice place, but for the first time since I moved to LA almost three years ago, I knew, unquestionably, that LA is my home, and I must stay. There is still something for me there.

Now I write this thousands of miles from home, once again away, for 25 days, in a hotel room with a terrible view. Not located adjacent to a beautiful beach, with adorable cafes within walking distance, lacking the charm that I had pictured in my head. But, this is one of those adventures to add to the list, and I’ve never been here before. The goal is to see the world, and this little corner of Florida is technically included. A new place every month, right?

Last night, with the click-click of my room key, and the slam of the door, I understood what being away from home means for most flight crews. The flight attendant life can be a lonely one. I’m just glad that at the end of the day, I will end up at home.

“Don’t let this throw you. You trust God, don’t you? Trust me. There is plenty of room for you in my Father’s home. If that weren’t so, would I have told you that I’m on my way to get a room ready for you? And if I’m on my way to get your room ready, I’ll come back and get you so you can live where I live. And you already know the road I’m taking.”
John 14:1-3 Message Bible

About the Author Kara

Curious. Bubbly. Creative. Curating a life I don't need an escape from and inspiring you to do the same.

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