I have moved a lot of times in my life. I have lived in several places in the past year, including a 12 passenger van! Now I'm back in my house, my own home. I love having a home and making it mine. In fact, I am feeling close to settled for the first time since May of last year. But I'm not completely settled. I did hang up some art today, a few of my mom's paintings and some other décor, but I didn't quite get it all up. In fact, I feel like I'm missing a few things. Things I may have stashed away and still haven't uncovered.
On top of feeling like I'm not finding all I thought I had stored, I have a nagging feeling that I shouldn't enjoy all these things. I should be content to live in a fox hole, or something simple anyway, but I'm not. I feel somehow guilty about my life back here in the US. To some it may sound silly, but that's how I feel. I haven't lost my love for Africans but I like making a home nice. It's important to me. I do that overseas too, but without my resident's status there, feeling settled alluded me. It seems to me that I am hardwired to want to feel settled.
I'm done moving around for a while, but I'm not totally settled. I may never feel settled. I was asked the other day if I miss Kenya with a deep longing to go back. I replied that both places are home to me. So maybe in a sense I'm never fully at home anywhere.
That is the point. We aren't at home anywhere here on this planet, our home is elsewhere.