I am sure that everyone can attest to this feeling, no matter your race, culture, or background. We all have a place that is home for us, whether that be a face, a pair of arms that hold us, a building, or a place in nature – we all long for it.
My home is where the chickens roam the backyard. My home is taking my fishing pole down to the lake, sitting and listening to the bird’s chirp as I await to hook my bass.
My home is waking up sleepy eyed, pulling on my boots, walking out to the back property to watch the sunrise over the rolling hills, hot coffee in hand.
My home is cuddling my little brother on the couch as we wait for mom’s potato, egg, and sausage scramble.
My home is a place, but it is also the people in that place that make the four walls stand.
I miss the drive home. It is so rewarding to drive through and past three big cities to get to a little small town feel, where everyone knows you on a first name basis, where there are more trucks than cars.
There is such a simple life mindset there. You collect the egg’s in the morning for breakfast, you chop the veggies for the goat’s and bunnies, you love and you serve where ever you see an opportunity.
It is difficult to keep a simple life mindset when you are rushing everywhere you go, when you don’t look people in the eye when you’re talking to them, or when you go to work and count the minutes until you are off.
Being genuine is not always appreciated when you can’t see it.
I long for moments where I can drive to this place.
Where I can unwind and get back to my roots. Where I can remember clearly what is really important. Family, love, service, hard work, laughter, good conversations, and quiet peaceful moments at the lake.
All of these places are home.
All of these things make me who I am. Empathetic, genuine, true to the bone.
I am just a girl who wears her boots to work wishing she was outside the concrete jungle.
But as for now, this is where I am and where I will be, so I will take what my roots have given me and make use of them here.