Are You Ever Going Home?

My home is wherever they are.

I'm routinely asked if I'm "ever going home". The presumption that people would know where my home is perplexes me. I've lost count of the number of times I've moved. I do know that by the time I had my first, clear, concrete memories — aside from fleeting will-o-wisps of memories of Japan — I had already lived in five "homes". By the time I had graduated high school in Texas, I had attended six public and one private school. My sister, Gayle, left home when I was 12 or 13, and I lived in the middle of nowhere without so much as a phone, so I lived in isolation for many years, with no long-term friends, knowing only that there's a huge world out there and I wanted to see it.

So no, I'm not "going home." I wouldn't even know what that is, aside from my happy life with my wife and daughter. Were I alone and to leave France and had to settle down permanently, I expect I'd go to the UK. I have lots of friends and family there (not to mention work), but in reality, I'd probably keep traveling.

I've already lived in Texas, Louisiana, Alaska, Oregon, Washington, Hawaii, Japan, the United Kingdom, the Netherlands, and now France.  But I want to see Malaysia. I want to swim in the Atlantic off the beaches of Montevideo. I want to see if Australian BBQ can hold a candle to what I grew up with in Texas. I want to live in a high-rise in Hong Kong. I want the rain pouring down as I walk along a neon-splashed Tokyo street, carrying bags of groceries. I want to see the look of joy on my daughter's face when she sees the start of the great wildebeest migration at Ngorongoro. I want to have a romantic dinner with my wife in Santiago.

I am home and I always will be, no matter where I am.

PS: I'm looking for a new contract. If you're looking for a strong Perl developer with extensive database and testing skills, let me know.