Where are you from? I’ve always hesitated, or qualified, when I answered that question. My father was in the Air Force, and we moved every two or three year until I was 17. It wasn’t until I moved to LA for UCLA that I settled in one place for more than 36 months. Before LA, it was Hawaii, Texas, Denmark, Germany, North Dakota, Nebraska, California.

Most people have a definite “from.” Many people spent their youth in the same town until college. I’ve always wondered what that was like. Friends talk about growing up with the same people, having the same circle of people from kindergarten through high school. That is a completely foreign concept to me. I had to make new friends every few years, and keeping in touch across distances was a different experience pre-Facebook and social media. It was near impossible for an eight year old to stay in contact with friends halfway across the country or the world.

Other people may move around a few times, but they can usually answer, “Where are you from” pretty easily. It’s where they spent the first 5 to 20 years of their life.

And then there are those like me, who had wandering childhoods.   Military families, some families with civilian jobs that required frequent relocation.

On the other hand, I know where my home is. “Home” as a concept is much easier for me than “from.” Home is where I live, where my partner is, where my friends are, where my dog is, where I have put down roots. Home is created.

But I am a little jealous of people who have a “from.” You return to your childhood home or to where your extended family lives, to remind yourself of who you are, right?   When you have tough times, your internal compass points you there. At least, that’s what I imagine. A place far enough away from your adult life, a place where you are reminded of who you used to be, how you’ve changed, and maybe how you haven’t.

I was born in Honolulu, and so when people ask the question, I say I am from Hawaii. It’s the closest thing I have to a “from.” I don’t have family there; I don’t really remember my first year and a half of life there. But that’s what I’ve got to work with.

Maybe it’s a mental trick that I am playing with myself, but I feel different there. Since it’s the only place I can claim as my “from,” I’ve been working on making it more and more mine since I was old enough to think about it. Though I don’t know what it’s like to have an anchor place where I grew up, at least it feels to me like it is connected to me in a way that other places I love are not.

When I’m struggling, or I feel off balance in my life, there are two places I think about going. The first is a road trip. I guess a moving car isn’t really a place, but it feels like it to me. There is an ease, a comfort, a centeredness in a road trip to me. It’s always been that way. A road trip feels like a place to me, a mental construct where my monkey brain is occupied by the movement and the travel, and I quiet down. When I was young enough to say that I was searching for myself, it was often the road where I thought I would find myself.

I road tripped through the Deep South after high school. I took a semester off of college and road tripped most of the West Coast of North America. Before I started my last job (at a career pivot), I took a week off and did Pacific Coast Highway.

And the other place I think about is Hawaii.

So, this time, when I felt like I needed to hit the reset button, instead of getting in the car, I got on a plane.   For the first time, I’m going to Hawaii by myself. No girlfriend, no boyfriend, no parents. I’ll be largely off the grid – I’m not going to work more than a couple of hours over the five days.

Just me.

I’m going to read, think, write, hike, swim, surf, take photographs and clear myself of the negative jetsam and flotsam that have accumulated in my head over the last year. I’ve let difficulties at work cloud my image of myself, dull my outlook on my life, and affect my ability to easily access joy.

I can’t think of a better reason to return to my “from,” regardless of how much that idea is my own creation.

We’ll see what happens.