Home is where the heart is, but where exactly is my home?
The bricks and mortar of my house? The village (more of an urban sprawl) where I currently live? The country to which I give my loyalty?
I’ve moved around and where I was born is a distant memory, the town where I went to school is a strange place and the cities, which provided me with my university education, I’ve never been back to visit.
My heart lies perhaps in pieces and unsure of its resting place. However, these aren’t miserable fragments, merely disconnected and a record of my life’s journey. My current home is my comfort zone; the provider of security and continuity. It’s easy living here, the needs of my family are met. So take away that comfort, transplant me elsewhere, would I founder or thrive? Would I discover new roots to put down and grow or wither away?
If I let myself wander, I might climb to the top of a mountain and erect a tent or maybe a treehouse in a jungle, or a luxury cruiser drifting between tropical islands. I could even fly in a rocket to a faraway planet and colonise it.
My home is here, where I sit and type this, but my imagination has no boundaries and if I’m brave, no comfort zones to barricade myself behind.
Frank Herbert – Dune