Home is where the loved ones are

[serene]

[reposted from alt.poly]

Today, I move through my apartment, saying goodbye-and-Goodwill to
things I don't mind parting with. Then I take up that first string of
belongings, that stuff that has managed to make it through countless
cullings over the last few years, and put it into boxes and bins. I
will slap little tags on the boxes to tell myself where the things will
go, which is an exercise in optimism, because really, they have no home
right now, my things.

I know people without homes. I see more that I don't know every day. I
know that it's not out of the realm of possibility that some day I will
not have a home.

I do have a home, though. I may not have a next-apartment lined up. I
may not have a place to put these things, short of finding a place by
the end of the month or renting storage, but I have a place to be. I
have several places. I have a love in San Leandro who will not let me
sleep in my car. I have a love in Santa Rosa, likewise. And I have
friends who love me and will not let me fall. So I may not have a next
house, but I do have a home. I do. It's wherever the people who love
me are, and there are lots of them.

I am rich. So, so rich.