Where is home?

When I was a kid my concept of home was as simple as the rest of my developing brain. It was where my family and my stuff was.

Then, when I was sixteen years old, the family moved 2,000 miles away. Even though I still had my family and my stuff, the new city didn’t feel like home. I didn’t fit in.

After college I moved to Southern California, and I felt much more at home. A decade later I moved to San Francisco. I lived there only four years, but thirty years and three other cities later, that’s the place I consider home, in the conventional sense.

But what about now that I’m living unconventionally? Well, you’ve probably seen the stickers: Home Is Where You Park It. That’s me. Except I’ll take that slogan a step farther. Home is even where I’m not parked. To me, home is not a building, not a spot on a map. This nomadic life is my home. I am my home. I’m always there.