I emailed someone while I was in Florida about going home soon. He assumed I meant somewhere else in the States. People often get confused when I reference home. I get it, there are several options.
It could mean my hometown, where I grew up, where my parents still live, and where I visit my oldest friends who understand exactly where I come from.
It could mean Washington, DC, where I lived for four years, where I first entered the working world, and where I met some incredible people and forged lifelong friendships.
It could mean where all my belongings are now in Roatan, where I work, and where I eat, sleep, and play.
Then again, home could just mean the hotel where I was staying for the week.
I mean really, what is “home” but a concept?
Home is wherever you want it to be. I love all my homes, from my current (accidental) island paradise, to my childhood home with all of my memories, to my DC home where friends became family. Hell, I even loved my hotel home last week for the wedding (despite the frigid air conditioned rooms – you people are crazy! You know who you are…).
Home to me is wherever I’m happy. And I like to be happy all the time.