That feeling you get when you sleep in your own bed after days or weeks away? That's the good stuff. I don't ever want to give up that first deep sleep in a familiar place. It's just too good.
Yet, lately I've had the distinct feeling that so many places could be "home." As we travel around the states, conversations often turn to where we might end up some day. We don't really talk about moving or roaming in terms of right-this-minute changes, but we've been known to look at a city, town or rural valley surrounded by towering mountains and note with a sigh, "yeah... I could live here."
For so long we've been tied to one place—and in many, many ways we still are—but there's been this glimpse of what it might be like to reside someplace else for a while. I'm honestly grappling with that feeling. It feels glorious to be comfortable in so many different places, but it also feels strangely disorienting once we arrive home. I try not to fall prey to that grass is greener business, but I often ache for elsewhere. I find myself missing the places I've fallen in love with along the way.
While I don't have the answer to this conundrum, I'd love to hear your thoughts on the matter. I always try to appreciate my current surroundings as much as humanly possible (which should be evident here, here and here), but I'm wondering how my fellow travelers and explorers deal with the constant pull of other places.
Spill it, friends.