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Strange, isn't it, how the older you get the stranger your life seems?

I remember as a child thinking that life was primarily a journey in one direction. You went to work, or to the store, or to vacation, and you came back. The place you came back to was home. Home was something that was a bit different for everyone, but everyone knew the concept. That's where everyone wanted to go. Home was safety and security and rest and admiration.

Then, you get older. You wander the world a bit and realize it is vast and free. You start to see home as a cage. It's the tendrils of life holding you in and you need somehow to escape.

But you still want a home. You put your home on your back, then. You tighten the straps up and leverage the weight just right. Sometimes, you stick your head in the shell and hide as a passing threat looms too high.

Do you ever come back? Do you ever find a home again?