When do you know when you are home? Some are firm believers that 'home' is something you build around flower pots and kitchen chalkboard schedules, meetings meeting, soccer games, and vacations. For those of us searching for that definition on our own, it can be found through feeling. Today I took to the streets of Providence, RI in search of what may be, and found beauty in the lonely brick, breeze, and surprising diversity.
In between the red and orange lines of Boston's running trains, I have grown. Yet today, it was in between red brick buildings, slick side alley streets reminiscent of the corners of Toronto, and in near kitchen conversations with local bartenders at The Grange, that I felt renewed, welcomed.
It may be me convincing myself of where I belong, more of who I am, and in turn, where I fit-and for that I am still a blushing child. But the search of 'home' felt like the future as something running at me with open arms, instead of something I'm running away from with a shielded heart.