Home Sweet Home

As I'm writing this, I'm sitting in my new apartment, surrounded by boxes and bags full of everything I own. I realize that doesn't sound particularly note-worthy to anybody else, but I've spent the last several months either traveling or living with my things scattered across New York. I had furniture, and clothes in Manhattan. I had pots, pans, dishes, and a really heavy cutting board in Brooklyn. I had clothes, toiletries, makeup, and jewelry with me in Astoria. Oh, and there were enough shoes and books spread across all three of these places to fill up several boxes and bags, and even then I had to leave a ton behind.

So now that I'm sitting on my new bed in my new apartment with everything in one place, I'm feeling like it should be documented somehow because it feels strange to say: I'm home now. 

When I say to people that I'm home, they'll no longer need to ask which place I mean. When they want to borrow something from me, I can say yes without needing to add "well, I need to see which apartment it's in first..." When I need something mailed, I'll be able to give one address rather than saying "well, it depends on what it is and when you send it..."

I got so caught up in the stress of organizing this move, I hadn't taken any real time to reflect on what it would mean, that I now have a home.

Home. Weird.

Have you ever lived a bit like a nomad? How did it feel when you were all in one place again?