Home, where is it?

I’m sitting in the doctor’s office right now, which is obviously not home. It doesn’t look like it, doesn’t smell like it, and has way more people under the age of 5 than my house does. I’ll be sitting here for a while, so I’m going to think about where my home is.
I just started reading Little Dorritt by Charles Dickens as my first official book of summer reading today. In the first chapter, the gentleman in jail describes where his mother was born, the other country where she lived, the same for his father, and his own birthplace. He says, with grandeur, “I am a citizen of the world.”
Which got me to thinking about home and belonging and where I’m from.
I’ve lived in Minnesota my entire life, so I obviously say that’s where I’m from now, and I will continue to say that when I go to college out of state in the fall. But then, if I decide to stay there after college, if I become a citizen of a different state, what do I say when people ask where I’m from?
Well, I lived in the same house, same room – but we changed the paint colors to lime green when I turned twelve – until I was 18. And I always told my parents when I was younger that I would never move, that I’d bring my family there when I grew up. And I would build a little house for my parents in between ours and our neighbor’s house. So, that’s where I’m technically from, but I’ve lived here for 6 years, so this sort of feels like home.
Then what if I move to another country and then come back to the US? Then no one will have an attention span long enough to hear the whole story.
Home is where the heart is, right? And I’m not really supposed to feel at home on earth at all since Heaven’s pretty much the eternal residence. But I obviously need a temporarily permanent residence for while I’m alive and mortal, so I may have some issues with identity if I move.
Oh, but to be a citizen of the world in the sense that the gentleman in jail in Little Dorritt means it, to live in multiple countries in the course of a lifetime, to leave a piece of your loyalty there, to have memories and cultural knowledge firsthand from more than one culture… That’s an invigorating thought.
Home: does it really matter where it is? As long as it’s the place I’m meant to be at the time, the location my roots are doesn’t have to be easily describable to someone I’ve just met. In fact, why not go for the most complex story I can get?
After an hour of waiting – which only ended up in giving me a referral – I came to the conclusion that maybe I’m going to have to be okay with not knowing exactly how to respond to the “where ya from” query. That maybe part of my stretching and growth will be in the
changes in scenery.
I could use a change in scenery after this doctor’s office.

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