Home is where the heart is. (My heart is in so many places.) Home is where you park it. (Nope.) Home is wherever I’m with you. (Who is “you”? I’d love to know!)  Home is where your cat is. (I don’t have a cat.)

Where are you from? Where’s home? I’m occasionally envious of people who have an obvious, simple answer. People whose identity is moored to a single place.

When I meet someone and they ask me where I’m from, I have a moment of panic. 

I rant. I could just say North Carolina but, I babble awkwardly. I want to be known. Like when it’s Halloween and you could have drawn a ‘P’ on a white shirt and painted your eye black. But you chose to spend 2 hours teasing your hair so you could be David Bowie as the Goblin King and your dog is Toby. Some people get it and they cheer and high five! Most don’t. But, you know you’d rather give 26 one and a half minute explanations than have a pun costume. Because a pun costume is not an accurate representation of your soul. Someone else maybe (bless them) but not you.

This is how it usually goes…

Oh well, you know western North Carolina feels most like home. Like, I can walk down the street and bump into people I know. And, I know where they keep the good burritos.

My folks live in Winston-Salem. But, I never lived in Winston-Salem except for that one summer I flew off my bike and broke my face along with the rest of my body and sat in a wheelie chair in my parents’ living room for two months wearing that monkey shirt. I guess I grew up in Greensboro which is close to Winston. Ah, though when I think about it, most of my growing up happened in Stokesdale where I had my first kiss (which actually happened on a trip to Florida). So, Stokesdale. You’ve never heard of it. It’s tiny. Pretty close to Greensboro. So Greensboro, yeah.

But, Boone is where I visit when I’m homesick. I went to school at Appalachian State (We beat Michigan 34-32 in 2007? Yeah, yeah! You remember that!) I lived in Boone for about 9 years. But, I guess I didn’t live there for the whole nine years because I lived in New Zealand (Kia ora!) for a few months here and there. And I guess I was interning in Oregon for the last semester of grad school.

After school, I moved to a camp in New Hampshire. The dock at camp is my happy place where I center myself. I’ve spent a lot of time in my mind on that dock. Also, does it count as living somewhere if it’s in my mind? #minddweller

After that summer, I moved to Park City for a couple years. Well I guess I never lived in Park City. I lived in a couple tiny communities nearby. And…another camp.

Then I moved to Wisconsin. I lived in Milwaukee for three years. However, one night I was robbed of my chocolate almond milk and chapstick while walking home. So, I moved to a bucolic hunting cabin an hour away and commuted to the city for work for several months. Was I living in Milwaukee then?

I recently moved back to Utah. To Saint George. But, when I think of it, I spend most of my life in the field outside Saint George and when I’m not working, I’m usually away on a trip.

Did I mention that I was born in New Jersey and lived there til I was 10? Yeah, I know I didn’t mention it. That’s called lying by omission! I don’t tell many people unless I’m chatting with someone who’s from New Jersey. Then, in a flash I’m voluntarily saying I’m from a place I spend a good amount of energy avoiding.

My tribe seems to run into the same challenge. They’re shapeshifters like me. They reinvent themselves too frequently to easily define who they are or where they’re from. They move to Kenya. They buy a van of some kind. They have a go at nursing school.

Are you finding yourself too #blessed to fit your identity, experience or roots into a soundbite? Well then, what a great problem to have.