Last night I watched a series by Stephen Fry in which he traveled across America, spending a bit of time in each and every state. The final leg of his journey took him through San Francisco, northern California, Portland and Seattle. My old stomping grounds.
I sat there glued to the TV and experiencing some pretty strong feelings.
In San Francisco I could feel the vibe of that city, that amazing energy that I've never felt anywhere else, the satisfaction oozing from the people who know that they live in a very special, very unique place.
In Portland I could feel the clean air, the positive energy, the kind people, the green.
In Seattle I could feel the edginess, smell the salty air and roasting coffee beans, experience those breathtaking views out over Puget Sound and feel that misty rain on my face.
It was like visiting home.
In my heart New Orleans is my home away from home. Even though I don't get it sometimes, it is a place that is addictive, seductive, sultry. And rare.
But those jewel like cities along the Pacific still tug at my heart strings.
I get them. I know how to navigate them and know how the people think.
So watching Stephen Fry cavorting around the west coast made me a bit misty eyed.
Now France is my home. And I wouldn't want it any other way.
If I could fully express how fortunate I feel to be living here, I would. I thank my lucky stars every day that I am here, that I have the chance to live in Europe and in a country that values so much of what I value; recognizing the little things, appreciating family time, experiencing joy, savoring local delicacies.
And to have the time to be. Just BE.
To experience life. To enjoy amazing food and wine. And cheese!
So this definition of home. For me it is slippery. I still feel attached to so many places.
But I know that for now, even though my heart strings get tugged at from time to time, I am. Home.