I am a gypsy. I haven’t had a home for a long time. Call me homeless – I just throw everything in a bag and I’m good to go.
“Home is where the heart is” may be a beautiful saying but I prefer “home is where I put my backpack down”.
It’s not for everyone but to the traveler, it’s a fantastic ability; to be able to find a sense of “home” and a “bed” for a night or a few months at anyplace and at anytime.
Home can be found anywhere with vagabonding.
To be literal, I have a home in Miami and my hometown will always be New York City but if “home” means where one sleeps and resides the most, then they are figuratively not my home and hometown, respectively.
Can “home” be justified to be called that if I’ve stayed just 7 nights in it in the past 2000 days?
The rest of the world is more my home. Ironically because of the lack of familiarity and the persistence of being out my comfort zone. That’s the explorer’s perspective or less elegantly the lust to wander.
It’s like having a potential home or at least a place to stay anywhere in the world and many of the cities I frequent become a second home – many times over.
It seems as if I’m a high-functioning homeless person afflicted with wanderlust, AKA “world citizen“.
[The featured photo was taken with a Hitcase equipped iPhone.]