Home Is Where The Heart Is.

Home is where the heart is.

I live in a small town, the kind of town where you can’t know everyone, but you can’t help running into someone you know wherever you are. People in the country might call it a city, but it has the features of a small town that keeps everyone thinking about what their neighbors might think about them.

You don’t check out the wrong books at the library; that is why everyone has a computer. You don’t mow the yard on Sunday, but you will not be missed at church. It is a town like many others, except it is my home. I shop at the stores where you run into grade school teachers who still remember your name; I work at a business where my neighbors come to buy things they need. My hometown is a nice place to live.




On a warm spring Friday afternoon, with the weekend in front of me, I started out to find some place, not home. After sometime, I found such a place, and checked into a hotel in a town I didn’t even know the name of. A town full of strangers; that was what I needed.

I was only going to stay a day or two, so there was no need to splurge, just a plain room. Anonymity has a thrilling edge to it, like having a secret identity; freed from the fears of your friends and family’s judgment. In such a place you can find yourself.

My first night in town, I found the locals friendly. I stopped in the lobby to chat. Fearing I may be imposing on some local gossip, I stepped in shyly. But, no, the people were open and grateful to have a new voice to talk with.

The next morning I ventured back to find some of the same people out. Small towns are like that everywhere I guess. Much like home, this town is too big to know everyone, but small enough to run into a familiar face.

Encouraging words and helpful directions quickly made me feel at ease. “This was truly the place I was looking for,” I thought, as I pulled back the curtains to my small room letting in the light. In this town there is no need to shut out the world in darkness. With the room well lit and straightened, I would not be ashamed if someone came to visit.

I had talked with a few people, but one took me in more than the others. I met her while looking around. She had a sign hanging over her place that said, “Lorna’s Place …Lets have a little fun here. Adults only, please.”

Being out in a strange town makes you braver than you would be at home. I stepped in and looked around. I don’t know if anyone saw me blush, but I left my card and went on about the town looking for more adventures.

I am glad I stopped by her place, because Lorna returned my call and had some small kind words that made me feel good. We kept in touch some, and I told her about why I stopped and checked into this little community:

I wanted to write, except I didn’t want to deal with the hassles of family and
friends…what would they think, and how what I wrote might change how
they thought about me.

When I told her she could call me Emily Mabel (that’s how I saw myself), I think I could hear her laugh before saying, that would never do!… It was Lorna that dubbed me Alex, and I thank her for that too.

Since I met Lorna, others have stopped by to read my works and say hi. A kind word here, a little advice there. I think this place is great place because of that.

What I write here at writing.com may seem out of character for me if you knew me back in my hometown. But, here, I can tell you the story of Alexandra Griffin. I have not made a home for myself here yet, but feel free to stop by my hotel room. I will share a tale with you, and read yours too.

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