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Lately it seems like everyone on the internet is obsessed with traveling.  Like, it's everybody's "passion". Even my husband recently described himself as having a bit of wanderlust.

We travel a lot. We live far from our families so we travel to see them in various locations, often. We also go on vacations- both with out families and with just our little family. It's fun. Our baby will have been on 10 flights by the time he turns one later this month.

And there's so many--this will sound cliché but it's true--AMAZING places to travel to. (Does the word amazing always sound cliché to anyone else?) We want to go everywhere. New Zealand, Europe, San Francisco. My current travel dream is to bicycle tour around Iceland. I don't think that's even a thing yet. A few months ago I saw a Ted Talk by a travel writer and had this epiphany: I want to be a travel writer! Okay, but who doesn't? You love to travel, I love to travel, he and she both love to travel, oh yeah, and your grandma also loves to travel. Traveling is AMAZING. But really. The world is beautiful.

But.

Despite all the beauty and amazement and exoticness of travel, every time we leave our home, I start to feel this sense of sadness. No matter where we're going, all of a sudden, I don't want to leave. It's a little premature homesickness as I set the thermostat, lock the windows, leave one light on.

As this whole scenario occurred before a recent weekend trip, I realized something. Traveling is not my passion. Traveling is wonderful. It's fun, interesting, eye-opening, worthwhile, exciting, very very important. But it's not my passion. My passion is my home.

Without a doubt my home is the most important place on the planet for me and my family. To me, my home is just as wonderful as any vacation spot. No, not (usually) as exciting. Yes, much more mundane. But home is where I live, where my husband lives, where my baby lives. Home is where we build our family, watch our baby turn into a person, feel deep love and appreciation for our daily life. Most of my living, loving, growing, writing, parenting, and understanding happens at my home. These things are sacred to me. These things are turning my home into a sacred place for me. Truly, shouldn't we all live on ground hallowed by the best efforts of our own lives?

It's kind of ironic that I am thinking about this right now, because we actually don't own a home. We rent a condo. We like the city (and state) we live in, but we don't love it, and we'll be moving elsewhere basically as soon as possible. This won't be our home forever. In a few years our home will turn into someone else's home. Or, I don't know, maybe it will just turn into their house, their residence. Maybe it won't be home to them the way it is to us. It's not our forever home. It's not where we will say we are from and where our children will say they grew up. But for now, it's so important to us. It contains the most important part of our world.

It's also ironic for me to be writing about this because we are going on a very exciting vacation to Hawaii in under two weeks. We have been planning on this for a year and a half, not even kidding. That's longer than my baby has even been alive. We have the guide books, we have the swimsuits, we're gonna buy a go-pro, I mean we are going all out. We are so excited. It is going to be a complete and utter delight.

But what will happen the morning we leave? I already know. I'll set the thermostat, lock the windows, leave on light on, and all of a sudden, I won't want to go. Then the blue ocean under the wings of the plane will eclipse the feeling, and I'll never want to leave. But we will leave, and what I've realized is that upon returning home, I'll find that where we are is just as wonderful as where we were.