When I was ten or so, my best friend lived a few streets over and her home felt to me like my home. We'd ride our bikes back and forth at the smallest whim. I remember one summer hopping on my bike because "Benny and the Jets" was on the radio, and it was our favorite song EVER. It was still on when I burst through her back door and shared the last bars of the song with her. Of…
? I got home this week. It's odd, really, because I've also been home all month. I've been home in our condo in Lexington, or on the lake in New Hampshire where I've spent nearly every summer of my life. I breathe in the fresh air of those places and my inner sense of being profoundly at home is magnified. And then I arrive back in Palm Beach Gardens, my own home, my real home. I love the process of…
