My sister and her family have lived in their home for 15 years. I've lived in at least a dozen places in that time. And here we are, preparing another move. The idea of moving into a camper sounded so exciting and adventurous. The fact is that it is that, but I'm also a bit nervous about it. Not really having a permanent place to call "home". Have I really had that for a while? Where is home? Parts of me say Australia, but where exactly here? I've travelled around and lived in so many places. There are bits of my heart in all of them. And certainly the same could be said about the US. I still feel a connection to the country I lived in for 12.5 years and especially the places where my children were born, where we all learned and grew so much and where we still have good friends and family.
I think I've learned to live without a strong attachment to the idea of "home". It's only when I hear other people mention things that relate to that, that I realise it's something that is not really present in my life. Not deeply. Maybe if I lived somewhere where I could plant a vege garden and hang all of my pictures on the wall. And have animals (I miss that the most). Maybe that would give me the feeling of roots that a real home gives.
Until then, I'll keep spreading my wings and keep comfort that, for our family, home is where the heart is. So while we're all together and following our dreams for adventure, we are strong and we free and we are a group of 5 individuals, all blooming in our own way.