Dorothy said it best when she repeated the mantra, “There’s no place like home.”  I could ask one hundred people and probably get one hundred different definitions of the word “home.”

For some the term invokes images of a physical building, for others it’s a person or group of people, and for still others the word implies a concept.  Most of us equate “home” with feelings of warmth, safety, and belonging.  We all desire a safe place, where we will not be judged for being ourselves, where we can find acceptance and love.

Sometimes home is not so much a location that we go or occupy, but an ideal, a dream of what can be, or what we aspire to.  What we call “home” in our heads or hearts could be a  memory from childhood, even if the physical site no longer exists.  (If your home fits into this category, then you can say you carry it with you wherever you go.)

Over the past few months, I’ve spent a lot of time working on projects around my personal nest.  I’ve decluttered, painted, planted, and visited every home improvement store within a fifty mile radius. I’ve helped my husband assemble a video doorbell system, and watched technicians install new appliances.  Why all the fuss?  For the sole purpose of breathing fresh life into the space my family and I have called ours for fourteen years.

I work from my home, so it’s even more important to me that the place I live is comfortable, attractive, and neat.  Separating my work and other activities is not always possible, but at least I can create a space where I don’t mind spending my time.

At the end of a long day, I am more than ready for some quiet time to unwind, to read a book or watch TV with my husband, and just enjoy being home.  Does this make me a homebody?  I don’t really mind the label.  As nice as it can be sometimes to get out, or go away, I always look forward to returning to the place we call home.