Whenever I go on a trip, I think about all the homes I've had and I remember how little has changed about what comforts me.
While in Nebraska, celebrating my second Christmas(the first being in Ireland in 2006), I attended Christmas Eve mass. Filled with song, it was a surprisingly un-religious, religious service. The sermon revolved around the idea of home and how thankful the minister was that he and his congregants had made made it home for Christmas. The rest of the sermon trotted along without adding further discourse to the subject but it did remind me of how the word "home" has always fascinated me.
In high school I was a speech team member and read both verse and original verse poetry(nerd alert: I made it to state my senior year!). One of the original poems I wrote was about the idea of home. What it is. What it isn't.
I recently came across the above quote from Brian Andreas and realized how true it is. You might not know where you will want to live for the rest of your life, I certainly don't. And work or family may force you to uproot yourself. But, discerning what qualities of a home bring you comfort will surely provide infinite value to you.
As for me, as long as I can read a quality news rag on Sunday morning while sipping coffee(or irish tea), I'm home. Perhaps…some jazz quietly lingering in the background.