Dot Dot Dot

The NYC subway is good for a few things (besides getting you from point A to point B). It is good for talking (on the phone if you're above ground, or traveling with someone), playing BrickBreaker, reading a good book or blogging. Some of my best blog posts have been written while riding through the tunnels of NYC at all kinds of hours of day and night. Today, I've tried talking, reading and playing BrickBreaker, the only thing left to do is blog.

I'm stuck. I need a subject matter. While 36,287 thoughts are surging through my mind at any given moment, I can't seem to concentrate. I can't pinpoint what it is I feel or need to express. . .

. . .Are people closer because of distance? Do family friendships survive generations? Is everything really fated? Hmm...maybe I'll have more concrete thoughts on the ride back...

. . .Nothing's changed now that I'm on my way back home. Home, that's such a strange word. Home isn't really tangible. When I was little, I didn't understand the expression, "home is where the heart is." Now, I realize how much I've missed having one. I've been living out of boxes for what seems like forever now, really it's only much of my "adult" life. What makes you an adult? Age or experience? If it's age then I'm only 26 going on 57. If it's life experiences, I may as well retire. But before I veer off on another tangent, back to home. . .

. . .My heart is my home. It is filled with love for people close and not so close to me. It is filled with fond memories and deep wounds. It is warm and there's always room for me, my thoughts, my happiness and my sorrow. My mom is my home. She is no longer tangible, but I always go there. Even now, I don't want to make her worry an extra time, even though I now understand that she does and always has. She always made me feel welcome, wanted and loved. That's what home is. It's not about the size of the condo, house or mansion, the furniture and trinkets that you decorate it with, the curtains that you lug through all of Italy on your honeymoon (because buying them in Israel made so much sense at the time) or even the comfortable bed that is yours. Home is often where your family is, but more importantly it is where you find inner peace. I've been house-hunting for quiet some time now, but while riding on the Brooklyn bound, now local B train, I realize that what I've really been searching for is a home.

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