Home again, Home again

Home again, Home again, sort of, always, never, kind of. This is the problem about making your home in a different country, but always planning to return. The problem with having loved ones all over the world is that you are always torn.
I am recently back from visiting my family in the U.S. I am very glad that I went. I actually got to be invovled in peoples lives. Which is a huge treat for me. It is terrible to miss big events becasue you can never get them back. Hopefully people are only getting married once, but then I miss 100% of their weddings. Maybe people will graduate from something again, but doubtful and unnecsary.
But travelling and being home with the people that I love has taught me something which I have suspected for sometime, that home is not a place.
And it is not as I have joked my backpack either, which I do carry around with me like a turtle shell, and was very upset when the airline lost it for 24 hours. But my home is not a place or a thing but a feeling. The feeling of clam, belonging, safety, wholeness and the feeling of being understood by someone, whether I am in the place I grew up, a ubiquitous latte-land, a car, or somewhere in nature where there aren't even any buildings in sight.
So yes as a world traveler I have become torn and confused, but I am also home more often and completely than most.