Home is

I don't remember ever having trouble moving to new places, permanently or temporarily. For as long as I can remember having an opinion on the matter, home was the place where you were resting your head. And a couch was as good as a bed was as good as the bench of a car.

Moved around a little bit, and saw some other places a little bit more. Spent the past two years moving from place to place every time that I was transferred. And it was just moving to a new place. Having a new place to set my head for a little while, up until the next time that I would have to move.

To be honest, I had grown pretty well adjusted to this mindset. So it's kind of disorienting- not unpleasant, just disorienting- to lose it. Or at least lose part of it. I should like to think that I will still move from place to place as easily as I did before but there is no battling the idea that as soon as I arrived at the house which my family moved to while I was on my mission, as soon as I arrived it felt very peculiar.

So this is what people must mean when they say that a certain place, and no other, feels like home.

It is probably no coincidence that this house is reminiscent of the one which my mother's parents have lived in for my whole life. Everyone else has moved at least once, even my father's parents, but not them. So it should come as no surprise that this familiarity and sense of stability- the one thing that hasn't changed, in a life full of shifting scenes- should combine, with the intellectual knowledge that this is where my immediate family is living, into the feeling that this is home.