Home, for me, has always been simply a temporary permanence. When I was growing up, my family and I would relocate every few years or so, moving to a new house, or to a new city, or to a new country. My parents were in search of something, what I don't know, but, for me, this movement meant something new, and that was always very exciting. Now that I am older, I, too, am seeking this something. A home, perhaps? A connection? And it is something that can only be satisfied through travel, the movement of the heart. It is illogical and it is irresponsible, but it works. Stability does not exist by means of exterior stillness, but, by inward contentment, when one's actions coincide with one's instinct. That, to me, is the road to home.
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