Home is where the heart is.* At least that’s how the expression normally goes. My husband has come up with his own version: Home is where the fart is. Think about it; he’s got a point.

For me, home has come to mean wherever I am at any given moment. During the past few years as I traveled, I found that once I entered my current lodgings and spread my green pareau on the bed, I was home. But then a funny thing happened. Little by little I found that I didn’t need to do even that. Whether I was lying on my Hawaiian sarong or sitting in a comfy chair in a coffee house, I was at home.

Yes, I’d found my way to my heart and my home.

I started this glob as a venue for writing about my observations while traveling. Solo traveling. On a recent trip with my husband, I realized that I just didn’t have the desire to write when I wasn’t alone. Why? Because it’s just such a different dynamic. But today on my bike ride, it came to me that I want to continue writing about my observations, my experiences. In the grand scheme of things, I’m still on my solo ride; we all are. We’re born alone; we die alone. We’re each on our separate journey of growth and discovery.

So, what the heck is this all about?

Just because I’m not technically traveling, I’m still engaged in life and observing what’s around me. And it’s fascinating. Just yesterday I saw a turtle while swimming at Anini Beach. Alone. Me and the turtle and all the fish. It was wonderful.

And later this evening, I’m joining our improv troupe, the InsPirates, for a private show. Even though I’ll be on stage with others, I’ll still be alone. It’s still up to me to listen and observe—both to them and to what the muse pours through me.

Yes, life is such an amazing journey.

Please join me as it continues in a different but similar way.

Isn’t that how each day is?

Similar yet different?

Each with its own flavor.

Yes, I’ve got some tasting to do!

*This expression has been attributed to Pliny the Elder (A.D. 23-79)