My Way Home

I’ve always felt at home near the water. I don’t know if it has more to do with growing near the coast or my time spent on the Ogeechee River. All I know is whenever I’m near the water I’m at peace. For the last twenty years I’ve lived inland. Far away from the salty air and the sound of the waves. Oh, we have rivers here and we have ponds, but it still doesn’t feel the same.
 
Here I am a stranger in a strange land, I’ve never quite feeling like I'm home. Now I’m not blaming the people, it’s probably more my fault than anything else. I suppose it’s because my life feels so…temporary. I only once ever owned my own home and rental properties never really feels like your own. It’s like pitching a tent in the woods, only to pull up stakes the next day and move on. You’re there and then your gone.
 
Peace of mind is a valuable thing, but so to is a sense of place. Maybe I’m overthinking this, but the ocean breeze and the salty air. They call me back to a simpler place, a place where I felt more comfortable. It's like the many people that are now gone from my life that helped shape who I am. More than anything I just miss their company, thereby missing my place in this world.
 
Time is seldom a good thing or even a decent friend. In our youth it seems to drag on forever. But looking towards the setting sun, it often becomes just a reminder of what you have left to do. But there’s always the coast, that one constant. When I need peace, when I need comfort, I can go there and find my way home.