The thing about home is it is *not* a thing.

The last time I felt at home when I wasn't there was at a little coffee joint in the French Quarter (no, not Café Du Monde). I had traveled to New Orleans in the early 90s on a whim. I picked a city I knew very little about, one where I had no contacts or friends, and decided NOT to research anything in advance. Aside from choosing to stay at a VERY NICE hotel off the "main drag", I had no plans, no reservations, and no real agenda, other than to just let things happen. I found a small coffee joint on my first morning, and must have looked like I was hurting a bit (*ahem* - I should point out I was still drinking at that point). This waitress, who'd probably been doing the gig for more than 40 years, strolled over slowly and, in a great Cajun drawl said "you need some coffee hunny?" I was home.

I guess that's the last time I really have allowed that kind of freedom in my life – to travel randomly like that, I mean. I'm not totally a structure-freak … ok, a little bit yeah … but life takes over, jobs and family move in, and suddenly you realize that the last real free time you had was when you were sick in bed for several days.

The bummer of being a planner, by nature, is that even if I were to toss a dart at a map to pick my next "go-to" place, I'll still plan what the map shows, and I know myself well enough to know that I'd probably still aim at a certain country, region, landmass, island chain, etc. Being a planner also means that I'm tough to surprise, by others and by myself. I'm surprised, for instance, at the whole Biloxi thing with me … shocked, really, as are friends that have known me for years and years. However, I guess if I sat down and realized my love of most things Southern – the people, the food, the rhythms and energies – maybe I'd allow that it was always in my character to do this sort of thing, but it just took a major force of nature to hit close enough to home to make me know that I HAD to act.

Which isn't at all where I was going with this when I started writing a few minutes ago.

Where I was going was "home". Currently, as I write this, I can correctly say both that I am home and that I am not. And it's not a "structural" thing, and it's not a "location" thing. It's not a "knowing your surroundings" thing. It's an "energy" thing. It is more like feeling a rhythm or experiencing a level of comfort and safety that make you want to exhale a little longer than normal, that makes you carry yourself a little more relaxed, that allows you to stretch your boundaries because you somehow sense that you can, and that you should … that you owe it to yourself and to those that care about you.

It's like being a satellite, traveling to be near to – anything - because you just like the energy and the light that shines back at you.