a heart at home.
It's 1940 and war is imminent.
Staring into the unforgiving face of sacrifice, a young pilot makes what is, perhaps, his final purchase; a small gold locket, bearing his service wings. The wearer - his chosen sweetheart - will keep this heart close to her own; a symbol of what they later hope will be, their two hearts, reunited.
When a dear friend gifted me with one of these same lockets, I was not only touched by her tremendous thoughtfulness, but made to ponder the symbolism of such a meaningful gesture.
Some say home is where your mom is. Others, that it's any four walls where love is found. Both sentiments have rung true in my life. However, with my own departure looming and my long New York goodbye well underway, I'm inclined to curl up to an alternative theology on the "home front".
I've become rather fond of the notion that, perhaps, home actually resides within us.
after all, The times I've felt most at home were the times I've felt free to be my authentic self. a feeling that ultimately is cultivated from the inside out.
And recognizing that, leads me to the wildly comforting conclusion that maybe home can in fact always be well within reach...