Many years ago I moved away from home to go to college. If I timed the 12-hour drive right, I could leave in the daylight and reach my destination in daylight.

Years after that I moved even further away from home to go to grad school.  It took almost 30 hours to drive home.  I depended on the airplane to get me home.

A few years later, my husband and I moved again.  This time we were a 20-21 hour drive from my home.  We’ve flown to my home.  We’ve driven to my home.

People often ask if we would want to move back to my home. We’ve talked about it.  We’ve looked into it seriously.  Yet we stay at our home.  The one my boys will reference someday as their home.

Some days I wish I lived closer to home.  Some days I wish I could have more than a phone call or a online connection with my family back home. Some days I wish I wouldn’t have to say, “I can’t easily get home right now.”

Because no matter where I live or how old (or young) I am.  It is still my home. And there are days I still just want to be there.

I’m taking part in a monthly blogging challenge through Two Writing Teachers.