Where is home?

Is it anywhere in the city you live? Is it the house where you grew up? Is it where you fall asleep at night? Is it where you feel most comfortable or comforted?

I recall speaking to a parent when I first moved away from "home" just short of a decade ago. We confused what I meant by "home" because she thought I meant her house and I thought I meant mine.

City and Colour made me think of this today. So did the comments of a friend.

I'm indifferent, I think. I am not comfortable in my childhood home. I have never looked at my other homes as permanent. I certainly am a guest at most of the other places I spend time. Being a guest doesn't equate to being home. It's a funny change of perspective. It's also one that isn't entirely unwelcome. It's proof that at the end of the day change is good. It provides character, strength and insulting independence.

A home is not defined by four walls. It is much more. I'll know it when I find it. I certainly haven't yet.