“Home is where the heart is.”
Most of us have heard that saying our entire lives.
But what does it actually mean?
Is home the house you live in?
The town you grew up in?
The bed you sleep in every night?
Or is it something much deeper?
That question came up recently during a conversation I had with a highly respected banking professional here in Tulsa.
And it turned into a conversation that stuck with me long after it ended.
A Conversation About Travel and Home
We were talking about travel.
You know how it goes — people spend most of their lives working toward retirement so they can finally travel and see the world.
He told me something that made me pause.
He said he enjoys traveling.
But what he loves most… is coming home.
Specifically, he said he loves laying down in his own bed again.
So naturally I asked him a question.
“Is it really the bed you like… or is it the feeling of being home?”
He thought about it for a moment.
Then he said something that made perfect sense.
“It’s probably not the bed,” he said.
“It’s being around familiar surroundings… family… friends.”
That conversation got me thinking about what home is where the heart is has meant in my own life.
Because for a lot of years… I didn’t live near home at all.
When Work Takes You Away From Home
For years my career took me away from my family and my hometown.
The people I worked with became my second family.
In fact, several of those guys I still call my brothers today.
We went through a lot together.
Long hours. Hard work. Big responsibilities.
And when you go through those kinds of things with people, you build bonds that last a lifetime.
But the towns I worked in?
They never quite felt like home.
Moving Back Home With My Dad
Eventually I was lucky enough to continue my career and move back home.
One of the most meaningful chapters of my life came when I moved back into the house I grew up in with my dad late in his life.
There is something powerful about returning to the place where your story started.
The same walls.
The same floors.
The same memories.
Being able to spend that time with him in that house meant more than I can really explain.
Remodeling My Dad’s House
After my dad passed away, he left the house to me.
I decided to fix it up.
I poured a lot into that place.
New paint.
Air conditioning.
Refinished the red oak floors.
New fixtures.
Tile work.
I was proud of the work I had done.
But I remember feeling something else too.
Embarrassment.
Because I realized something.
I should have done those things while my dad was still alive to enjoy them.
That thought stayed with me.
A friend once asked me why I would put that much money into the house.
My answer was simple.
It was the closest place to home is where the heart is that I had experienced in many years.
And at the time… I had no intention of ever selling it.
The Night Everything Changed
Then one night something happened that changed everything.
I was lying in bed when I suddenly heard gunshots ring out in the park behind the house.
That moment made me stop and really look around.
Not just at the house.
But at the neighborhood.
The more attention I paid, the more I realized something.
The neighborhood had changed.
Maybe it had been changing slowly for years and I just didn’t see it.
Or maybe I had been gone long enough that I was noticing it with fresh eyes.
Either way… things weren’t the same.
And eventually I made a decision.
I decided to sell.
But not because of the house.
Because of the neighborhood.
House Blind
There’s a term people sometimes use.
“House blind.”
It means you see something every day for so long that you stop noticing the changes.
You stop seeing what others see.
That might have been me.
Because when I moved to Broken Arrow, Oklahoma, I noticed something right away.
Like every town, Broken Arrow has areas that need work.
But many of those neighborhoods are improving.
People are investing in them.
Taking pride in them.
When I later returned to my hometown for a few months to help with caregiving, the difference became even clearer.
And I’ll be honest.
It made me sad.
Not because I stopped loving my hometown.
But because I realized something.
Some of the people who used to criticize it…
They weren’t bad-mouthing it.
They were just calling it what it was.
When Family Changes
Life also changed in another way.
Our families got smaller.
Michelle lost most of her family back home.
I lost my mom and dad.
Between us we still have relatives.
My three brothers.
A half-sister.
Cousins.
Nieces and nephews.
But everyone is busy living their own lives now.
Years ago we used to have big family reunions.
Today it’s much smaller.
These days Thanksgiving at my brother’s house is often the main gathering.
And even that is starting to change as families grow and schedules get complicated.
Life moves forward whether we want it to or not.
Home Is Where the Heart Is Today
Because of all of that, Michelle and I have come to understand home is where the heart is in a new way.
We’re basically retired now.
We can go where we want… when we want.
These days my home is sometimes a suitcase.
Not because I’m homeless.
But because I want to see as much of the world as I can while I’m still able.
Some people might call that being a gypsy.
Others might call it being a world traveler.
I just call it living.
Oklahoma Will Always Be Home
But no matter where we go…
My heart will always be in Oklahoma.
That’s where my roots are.
That’s where my story started.
And one day it’s where I’ll be laid to rest.
And when that day comes, I know I’ll spend eternity with my Lord.
And Michelle will be right there beside me.
Because in the end…
Home is where the heart is.
And my heart has never really left Oklahoma.