Having moved 19 times by the age of 12, I was never one to get homesick. After I graduated high school I became a nomad. I spent years traveling around the world, living out of a backpack. I listened to my friends talk about getting homesick and I didn’t understand what they were talking about.
This week I moved into my new studio space. It’s smaller than what I had before, and I was struggling with pride a little. I worked to get it set up like I wanted, full of color and inviting inspiration. Finally, when opportunity struck, I threw on the paint pants and started painting. It is the first time I’ve been able to really paint in months. Just to open things up and make a mess. To not worry about a kiddo bumping into a wet painting or needing to stop due to household distractions.
It didn’t take long before tears were running down my cheeks. Happy tears. I felt at peace. I felt like I was doing exactly what I was supposed to be doing in that moment. I realized then, painting felt like home.