I have moved a lot. I grew up in various locations in Southern California. First, I spent several years in a growing desert city East of Los Angeles, then I moved in with my father in Orange County, was squatting for a bit on the beach, then lived in 3 more cities before going back home at seventeen. While back home, I lived at 3 different places, then moved back to LA. In the last ten years of my life, I can count thirteen places I’ve lived – that I remember. No wait, fourteen.

It changes you – moving a lot.

It warps what sense of ‘home’ you may have had, and it changes the way you feel about it. Now, even being quite happy and feeling as ‘settled’ as I’ve felt in years, I have a hard time finding a sense of home. The more you move around in such little time, the further that feeling of security and safety feels.

What is it about home that’s so important? I read of cultures who have been nomadic for centuries. Do they know the feeling of home? Is home about a certain place or a group of people? Is it about family or friends? Is it about time passing and gradually becoming more familiar with that particular space? I don’t know. But whatever it is, it can be fleeting, and apparently can take years to get back– if you get it back at all.

Are we meant to have safety, security, family and friends? After moving continents I’ve realised how much I relied upon what little I had. Now I feel the pressure, insecurity and ‘placelessness’ of unfamiliarity. The only thing that remains the same, the only comfort that can be had in times like these is the knowledge of God’s amazing love for me– that He has plans for my life that are good.