When you first meet someone a general question you might ask them is, where are you from? For me the answer to that question is Florida. But home to me is so much deeper. I think home, yes, is a place you are born, but also the word home produces a sense of comfort. A sense of being and nostalgia.

There are a few things in life that feel like home.

Like sitting down after a long day, turning the tv on and watching the Penguins hockey game.

I find home in friends.

I find home while walking the beach during sunset. Where the sand is tucked between your toes just right, and the crashing of the waves can be heard through your headphones.

I find home in indulging myself in marvel movies, while eating a bag of popcorn with my best friend.

I find home in a long walk to the other side of Greenpoint where Transmitter Park happens to be.

I find home in a phone call to my mom on any day, but especially the day when I need it most.

I find home in country music, but particuarly while I listen to The Zach Brown Band.

I find home in popping open a fizzled cherry soda from eastern North Carolina, Cheerwine.

I find home in a book called, “Places I Stopped On My Way Home” by Meg Fee. Where Meg perfectly describes my exact thoughts and situation that is seems like the she wrote it just for me.

I find home on a podcast called Giggly Squad.

I find home wrapped up in reality tv shows: Survivor, Big Brother, or anything on bravo. Don’t ask for my favorite, because I’ll never be able to come to that kind of conclusion.

I find home when it’s summer time and the sun is setting and I’m driving back to my apartment with my windows down over the BQE. Where the city skyline is to my right. I’m tanned and satisfied after a long day relaxing in the sun. George Ezra can usually be heard playing in the background.

I find home on a Sunday morning while cleaning my apartment and worship music fills the void of noise.

I find home in church with friends.

And on long road trips.

I find home on early mornings playing racquetball ball.

I find home while scrambling last minute to pack for a trip. I usually don’t sleep well that night. Waking up every hour or so tossing and turning. Mostly out of pure excitement for the next days adventure.

I find home while practicing yoga. Which is mostly me just pretending I’m flexible and doesn’t quite look like yoga at all really. Non the less it leaves me relaxed, awakened, and new.

I find home while playing beach volleyball. Whether it be on Pier 25 where the World Trade Center catches my eye or so far south that the salty ocean breeze can be felt.

I find home in many different places. None of which are actually a place at all. Sure, home involves places, but it’s not one specific place.

You see, home to me is anything that gets my mind off of the ordinary. Anything that let me sink and relax and forget. It’s not necessarily a place, but a feeling. A sense of peace. That’s home to me.

What does home look like to you?

x Tay
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