When I think of home…

The word “home” stirs the thick broth of emotions like no other. Home is associated as a place where you feel compelled to let your guard down because it is a place of safety.

Regardless of what the news headlines may relay about my hometown, I always feel enveloped in a perpetual state of safety whenever I have the opportunity to visit. There is an implicit understanding that the place which molded me is unable to show me anything other than unconditional love.

Throughout my adult life I’ve lived in a number of places, but I reserve the title, designation, acknowledgement of HOME to Chicago.

It is place where I was born and where I came of age to find victories scattered in the ever-present ashes of defeat.

Although the once constant battles with nostomania have lost their influence, I now realize that whenever I have an opportunity for a homecoming it is a surreal feeling of sorts…

I liken it to the mythical Antaeus having physical contact with Gaia, his mother, Chicago has this same effect on me… Chicago is my Gaia and unselfishly she provides me with an untapped reservoir of strength, as I am given something that I do not have elsewhere on the planet.

The bulk of my family still lives in Chicago and being ensconced with them is the glue that pulls it all together. To say that it is empowering to be in their presence, would be an understatement of the highest order. The assorted members of my family hold the distinction of being the best people that I have had the honor of knowing.
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The affinity that I have for them isn’t lost on me as I realize that many people cannot stand the prospect of being in the same room with their family, let alone the same city.

This is the element that I am most grateful for, the incorruptible element of love; because the scourge of commercialism and big box stores is powerless against it.

That is home…

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