Watching people at airports is quite the provocation of thinking.
The other day enroute to Europe I nursed a cappuccino and noticed a fifty-something year old woman, in shorts and flip flops, with a hoodie on that said in bold letters, Choose Happiness.
She was traveling alone, and she was dressed for the tropics. Perhaps a vacation she was headed to, or to a place where she might live out the rest of her life Choosing Happiness.
Or, perhaps she had chosen to be somewhere with someone with whom her choice became her happiness.
We wonder at the stories that people carry around or wear like a slogan on their chests, of a life they have chosen, or a choice that they live.
For me home is relationships. I come home not to a place, but to the people I love. That choice is my happiness.