I've never had that place where I knew I belonged. I've never really known "home"in the sense most people do. Even the places I grew up, filled with childhood wonderment and the misadventures of misspent you, even those places never felt like more than a stop along the way.

I have fond places, people and memories of the many places I have lived, sure. I even have my favorite stories to tell from those places, yet, none of them are places I'd consider home. Maybe I haven't found "home" yet. It's elusive intangibles remain beyond my grasp.

I'm hopeful that never finding home means I will forever be a traveler. I will never find happiness in the status quo, sure... but that doesn't mean I can't define my own happiness.

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