Pwllheli, N. Wales, c. 1899 by George Elbert Burr

Home is where my people are, but sometimes places can feel like home.

I saw a meme the other day talking about Hiraeth, which is basically homesickness for Wales, or for the Wales of years gone by. It’s not meant to be applied to a more general homesickness, or homesickness for another place. But it helped me kind of put something into words.

I always feel a yearning for other places. And I often feel like I could belong there. (Or there, or there, or…)

The issue is, though, that no matter where I am, I feel a yearning for somewhere else. Like I need to constantly be visiting a selection of places to average out and satisfy my needs or something.

I come by it honestly, I think. Both of my parents love(d) to travel. My whole life, I have traveled pretty frequently (with big gaps due to divorce/custody issues and then the pandemic), going here and there, to all 50 states and a bunch of countries, with my mom taking us on large and small adventures alike. My dad even took us on a few. Though a decent part of my travels was due to my own efforts.

I’m still “homesick” for places I’ve never been, such as England and Scotland (and, yes, Wales). Though, whenever I travel, I’m always glad to come home, to the place where I know where everything is, where things are familiar so I can relax, and where I can have control over my environment.

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