I was born in Rochester, New York, about a trillion years ago.

Twelve unhappy years were spent in Wolcott, New York, which is about 50 miles east of Rochester.

But I always gravitated back to Rochester, and felt it was my home.

In 2000, I moved out to Seattle with my mom, so that we could be close to my son and his growing family.

At first I felt uncomfortable here, like a tourist who just decided to reside in Seattle like a temporary citizen.

Then my mom got really sick, and I just stopped thinking about the concept of a geographical location as home.

Life was too busy, too stressful, and I had to deal with the realities of having a dying parent.

Then my mother died, and I needed to take care of myself again.

Last fall/winter, I considered going back “home” to Rochester; I really gave the matter careful consideration. I was also thinking of moving to Oklahoma, where my son and his family were living.

After giving it a few weeks to mull over, I realized that I had adopted Seattle as my home. Financial considerations played a big part, but not entirely.

I really love it here–the mountains, the mostly cool temperatures, the (mostly) liberal citizens, and the friends I have made here.

When my son shared that he and his family missed Seattle and wanted to return “home,” I just sat back with one of those “wow” feelings, and thanked God that I have finally learned to heed my intuition, my inner sense of knowing what is best for me.

While I was busy living my life, Seattle became my home.

Rochester will always be my hometown, but Seattle is where I happily live and work.

Seattle is home.