The Meaning of Home

For those who aren't "in the know", Chris messed up his back pretty bad while deployed to Iraq and has begun the process of getting medically discharged/retired from the military. At first, I was super duper excited. The idea of making money based on your ability and not your rank, being able to finally buy a house, choosing where we want to live instead of being told.... it all sounds amazing! But then reality sunk in. And panic.
One afternoon, seven years ago, I had just moved into my first on-post home in Fort Bragg, NC. I loved my new house and neighborhood and was happy to be reunited with my husband after eight months of training separated us. I walked across the street to my new neighbor's home to return a platter, and when she opened her door I couldn't help but notice the hand painted sign hanging on her wall. It read, "Home is where the Army says it is." It made me smile, but at that time I was completely naive as to how serious that sign really was.
Three years later, the Army said vacate your house and be in San Antonio in three weeks. Of course, there was a catch. Our orders were only for six months so on-post housing wouldn't be an option. And try to find a rent house or apartment with a six month contract option. So, I fibbed about our orders and rented a house site-unseen. Four months later the Army said get ready to move again, only they had no idea where they were sending us. First it was DC, then El Paso, then we were staying in San Antonio, then El Paso again. Finally, NINE DAYS before we were supposed to report to wherever we were going, we got orders for Fort Lewis, WA. I was stoked. Anything was better than El Paso.
Again, our orders were for less than the required 18 months to receive on-post housing, so I rented an apartment on-line, we hired some guys to load our Penske since I was too pregnant with Bonnie to do any heavy lifting, and in eight short days we relocated ourselves to Washington.
Five months later I had Bonnie, then Chris graduated from Cardiac Cath school and we somehow lucked out and had our orders for Fort Lewis extended to three years. It was too good to be true though. Right after renewing our lease agreement with our apartment, the hospital decided that where we were in Lacey was too far for Chris' on-call requirements and we were ordered to relocate to somewhere closer...... in 30 days. Thankfully there was on-post housing available, so we packed up again (well, the movers packed up. I had given up on DITY moves at this point) and moved 15 miles down the road.
So now here I sit, contemplating move #14.... yes, I said 14.... and now that I actually have a choice of where to go, I'm at a total loss. Home isn't where the Army says it is anymore. Home is where I say it is. Only I don't know where that is.
The logical answer to the "where is home" question is Amarillo, TX. It's where I was born and where I grew up. It's where my parents, sister, and a vast amount of extended family are. Chris' parents and sisters are just a couple hours away and most of our closest friends still live in the area. But would I consider it home?
No, probably not. While I desperately want to be closer to family (and built in baby sitters), Amarillo just doesn't feel like home anymore. Being on the outside looking in, you notice things you didn't see before. While they have the BEST restaurant selection of anywhere I've ever been, not to mention great Mexican food, I think lack of options means more healthy eating at home plus lots of money saved. Amarillo is one of those places where everyone is always trying to keep up with the Jones'. Everyone has the same red accent wall, the same $40,000 SUV, the same rhinestone studded "Fat Baby" cowboy boots. They spend $300 on seasonal hand bags and just as much on the exact same hair do that everyone else there has. And don't get me wrong, I miss having options when it comes to finding a church home, but churches there are nuts! It's like they're in competition for the biggest buildings and the biggest debt. I love my friends and family, but I also love trees. And the ocean. And the mountains. And not having to eat dirt every time I go outside. So while Amarillo is still an option, I don't know that I would call it "home".

Then there's the other places with job openings: Denver, Dallas, Austin, Albuquerque, places in Kentucky, North Carolina, South Carolina, New Hampshire, Colorado, Texas and Tennessee. We need to go where the jobs are, but since we get a choice, we want to actually like where we're going. Apparently, finding home is harder than I anticipated.
So, while I completely agreed with my neighbor's sign in the beginning, the Army has also taught me that no matter how many times we change physical homes, the old saying is even more true: Home is where the heart is. To quote the most awesome Edward Sharpe & the Magnetic Zeros, since my kids, my husband and even my annoying dog are my heart, then "Home is wherever I'm with you." : )