After returning from Iraq, I didn't stop moving or traveling.
In "The Desert Warrior," I described it as "a moving target is harder to kill."
I didn't stop running, maneuvering, until I reached home base, where I could breathe between death-defying sprints. I just need to make it home alive, and this will all be over, I told myself. Home.
Home became a concept I was desperate to find because returning to the US wasn't exactly the answer either.
It's never easy to start over. You can be born in a place, but that doesn't mean you belong there.
The idea of home, or how I see it, has evolved over time and through the process of moving throughout the world. Home is where you feel safe enough to be yourself, where you can ground your psychological rucksack and emotional body armor and be vulnerable.
Throughout Dante's "Inferno," you can see how his exile from Florence impacted him. Hw was moving, journeying, trying to find his peace, which included his beloved Beatrice.
We all have our own version of home, a place where we can abandon the camouflage and simply exist.
For me, I found it in people, places, moments, and memories. It's a lot like running - no two steps are exactly the same - but if you keep going for long enough, eventually you will reach your destination.
Have you found your "home" yet?