Has anyone ever noticed when you are on a road trip, that the way home is always the longest parts of the drive? I guess it’s the anticipation of getting to where you are going that makes the trip there seem shorter. Everyone is ready to get where you are going, talking about what you are going to do. The ride home is just that back to where you belong. But if you ask me, getting there is only half the fun. I love the fact that when you get home, it’s just that, Home. Your own bed, your own things. It makes you appreciate the smaller things in life.
You bet that going to different places is fun. It’s great to see different things, do all you can do will you are on a trip. But to me, getting home is just as good. It’s your place. It has your feel, and smell. I guess that’s why they came up with that old saying “home sweet home” because it is. Everywhere you turn; it’s what you have created for your humble abode. It’s your personality.
Everyone should have a place to call their own. It’s part of the American dream. My house is not a mansion by any means, but it’s mine. And it’s comfortable. Isn’t that what home is supposed to be? I think so. Because in my mind, it’s the richest, it’s the biggest; it’s the nicest in the area. Why, because its mine!
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