I felt it the night before I left.  That feeling I get every time I leave home for an extended period of time, that homesick longing that always creeps up on me.  Senses are intensified and it suddenly becomes very, very clear how incredibly good I have it in life.  

I tend to pause when entering the kitchen, crowded with family chatting and children playing and flash a dreamy smile, like I'm reenacting a scene from "It's a Wonderful Life."

The annoying squeaks from the dining room floor sound more like a symphony to my nostalgic ears as I creep to the stairs at the end of the night.  And that smell of paint mixed with dust and the lingering sent of dinner is so much more prevalent as I turn out the lights the night before a long journey.  

And every time I wheel my suitcase out the door, there is always a part of me that wonders what the hell I'm doing.  Why I'm walking out of a place so filled with love and warmth and comfort.  It makes it almost difficult to follow ones dreams.

And yet, I pity the person who doesn't hesitate at the end of the driveway.  For his as his heart constantly wanders, searching for home as he travels, I always know my heart is home, while I am free to wander.