Just recently I got to take a trip home. I was able to get my head right and fill it up with a good bit of nostalgia. I've lived the majority of my life away from where I was born (which I will always consider my home), and even though I'm still fascinated by the many ventures that I've taken (I've lived in a few different countries and have traveled extensively throughout the US), there really is no place like home. As persistent as I've tried to be escaping home, it always still draws me back with some sort of invisible force created by my memories. Trying to separate that seed from the tree is a very futile and meaningless event. I've always looked at those who chose to live close to the place where their favorite childhood memories were birthed and didn't really understand how these people didn't move on. Now, I can say that I understand and sympathize with those individuals.
