When you’ve been uprooted several times in your life, the overall sense of having a “home” gets lost somehow. It is sad, but true in every sense of the word H-O-M-E.
Because of my predilection to do a lot of musing, my ever-meandering thoughts brought me to the realization that I never really did have a home. Then, I began to expound on my musing by remembering some people I know who never really appreciated being born, raised and had stayed in one place. They often find a lot of different reasons to get out of the place where they learned everything they knew and where all the people who knew and loved them lived. In short, they don’t appreciate what they have. And for someone who never had that privilege to stay in one place long enough to call it a “home“, I pity them.