Today is moving day. I’ve had a lot of these. Some I don’t remember and many I do. Some meant my dad was taking a new job and I would be leaving my friends and my school. Others were just changing dorms and getting a new roommate. My move to Texas was for seminary and it meant I couldn’t just drive up the road to see my family. The last two moves felt like they never really ended. Most of my things ended up in storage or sat in boxes in my closet. My last two roommates were great but I never felt at “home”.
One definition of my first name Scott is “traveler”. This is fitting but many times it feels more like it should be “nomad”. The other definition is “one from Scotland”. Maybe there is some deep part of me that yearns for the green fields and hills of some long lost relative.
If I’m honest with myself, there is some part of me that believes I won’t be “home” until I’ve got a wife, kids and the white picket fence. At age 35 I’m fully aware that may never happen, and I can’t keep waiting for that feeling of “home”.
If I keep waiting to feel like I’m “home” then I’m going to miss out on more of my life. Instead of pining away for some nebulous feeling and the relationships tied to it, I should look for ways to make a “home” for others. Regardless of the structure in which I live, may it be “home” for those looking for peace or just need a friend.