Home used to exist in a house on Macedin Drive in a sleepy Georgia town.

It remained there throughout my college years, throughout my various apartments. The spreading of my wings was still grounded in an old blue house and with the realities and memories of the five of us.

And then home became elusive and undefined. The blue house was sold and painted white. It became a shell of what it used to be and though I would sometimes drive by when I was in town to visit, I knew it was no longer home.

Home became different from house.

My son and I have been traveling a lot lately. A big trip to Georgia to visit family. A trip to Alabama for a wedding. And most recently a trip to North Carolina to visit my best friends.

Lost in thought on yet another long drive I pondered home.

For over the past few weeks I have found home hidden in unexpected places, slowly revealing itself to me in tiny pieces.

I mostly find home now in an old house in Richmond, VA. We’re drawn to homes with character, my husband and I. I find home in this house’s creaky stairs and funny phone nook and the yard that sprouts clover instead of grass.

I find home in my husband’s smile and in toddler bear hugs. My son gives the best ones.

And then in our travels I found home again in the Georgia air. Ten hours south of where we are now, there’s just something different about the atmosphere in Georgia. Something comforting about old familiar roads and memories.

I always find home in the company of my mom and brother and sister. They will always be the first and best parts of my definition of home.

This weekend, I found home in my best friends. In memories of being young. In recalling how we met and who we used to be in the midst of who we are now as adults and mothers.

“Home is where the heart is” seems cliche and stagnant, though drenched in truth.

Home, to me, lies in memories and the comforting security of familiarity.

Home, it seems, exists not in a place, but in a collection of pieces of who we are and who we are yet to be.

And at every turn, it feels good to be home.


  1. So true! No matter where we are, we will always be with one another. I really enjoyed seeing you guys and I look forward to seeing you again very soon! Love you!! Xoxo

  2. I still live only 15 minutes from where I was raised so I find myself – every once in a while – driving past my childhood home. And you are so right; it is now simply a house – the memories live only in my heart.

    Now, more than ever, I’ve had reason to contemplate the difference between a HOME and a HOUSE. Home is where my family is. But right now, it’s not where we’re living.

    I can’t wait to get back to the place that is really ours, but what matters most until then is that wherever we are, there is love.

    • It’s so weird to have that separation from home to house, isn’t it?

      I am so so very sorry for what you are going through. What a terrible loss for you and your family. I am hoping that things can be settled for you very soon.

      I’m so glad that there is a difference between house and home and your family is safe and together.
      Sending lots of love your way!! xo
      Julia recently posted..HomeMy Profile

  3. You got it sister.
    Where ever your happy and love is, your heart will always be home xoxo
    Kimberlly recently posted..Tiny HatsMy Profile

  4. This is so beautiful, Julia!
    Alison recently posted..StickyMy Profile


  1. […] Looking at my posts this time this year, they are heavy. Infrequent. I don’t have time to write and when I do it’s about nostalgia or searching. […]