This was a post that I outlined and wrote while traveling back to Arkansas for ten days. In the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t a lot of days…but I realized as I was traveling in the airplane that home really is where the heart is.

When we moved to North Carolina back in January, I was hesitant. I had never lived away from Arkansas in my entire life, with the exception of the summer I spent in Northern California with my brother. It was daunting to think about. I had always defined myself as a family girl, and this equation included my dearest friends. I had this notion in my head that without my extended family and friends by my side – I would be miserable.

Only, I wasn’t.

When we settled in I realized I wasn’t homesick…at all. Then I felt moderately guilty. Because seriously, what kind of self-proclaimed family girl doesn’t get homesick when she moves a thousand miles away for the first time in her life?!

I absolutely miss everyone. I just don’t have this burning desire to be home. That made me start questioning what my definition of home really was. When anyone asks me where I live I say, “North Carolina.” When asked where I call, “home” the answer is always Northwest Arkansas. Which is fair, I grew up there and have roots that run deep.

So when I didn’t instantly miss Arkansas, or the idea of Arkansas I thought maybe my homesick button was broken, or maybe on a time release, like Tylenol. But it has been over four months and I’m not homesick.

Because as I was packing, I realized that my home, or my definition of home at least, is this…

My home is made up of memories and the people you make those memories with. It fits neatly within your soul and you can carry it with you no matter where you travel in the world.

Home is a state of mind – not a particular place. And I am glad to have found mine.

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Mother of three. Writer extraordinaire. Lover of art and music. Consumer of chocolate and wine.

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