Today, I sit on a dock, writing and occasionally looking up to figure out what the bubble in the water are coming from. Please don’t be a snake.

The two-weeks before, I was at another body of water, listening to my daughter cry and speak in anger about the eighth state she has lived in during her almost 18 years.

Earlier today, I realized that I have lived my life as a nomad who moves due to financial circumstances.

As a child, we moved to where my dad could get work or where my mom’s job took her. we moved to cheaper apartments and homes. I can claim going to at least seven schools during my public school education experience.

I promised myself I’d never let my children go through that, but here we are.

Like my parents, we followed the jobs until it didn’t become about work or where to raise our kids. It’s now about finding a place where we can retire.

Each job promised more pay, which was eaten up quickly by the cost of living and having always-growing children and pets.

Moving gave me a unique perspective on life. I’ve seen enough of the world to know about things people who spend their entire life in one place never experience.

I have seen how rural America — coast or mountains or the flat-flat states — faces similar issues. They have similar values and each attacks problems in different ways. It’s all beautiful.

As I sit alone, I realize home is not a place for me. It never was.

Home is about people. People who feel comfortable telling you their secrets and vice versa. Home is being able to Beas loud or as quiet as you want and no one questions it.

As I sit alone in this space, I miss home.