Somewhere to Stay

Instead of looking for somewhere to go… build somewhere to stay.

I love that. It reminds me of another saying I heard once: Instead of trying to escape your life, build a life you don’t need to escape from.

That feels much closer to the kind of life I want.

I’ve never really had that feeling of “Anywhere but here.” I like my home. I like my life. I like my people. I realize that may sound rather ordinary, but perhaps that’s exactly the point. Somewhere along the way our culture started convincing us that ordinary isn’t enough. We begin to believe that fulfillment must always be found somewhere else—on another continent, another beach, another adventure, another bucket-list destination.

We pour so much expectation into “getting away.” We imagine ease, rest, perfection. Yet right off the bat, airports are usually none of those things. They’re crowded, noisy, expensive, and exhausting. And that’s before you’ve even reached your destination.

Then you arrive and discover the room isn’t what you expected. There are cockroaches. Or construction next door. Or you packed the wrong shoes and the wrong clothes—the ones you paid an extra two hundred dollars to bring. Your luggage disappears. Your return flight is cancelled. You drink the water you shouldn’t have, or eat at the little restaurant everyone recommended and spend the next day in bed with food poisoning. A political coup breaks out. Maybe that’s an extreme example—but the point is, travel isn’t paradise. It’s simply life… in another location.

Of course, many trips go beautifully. There are places in this world I would genuinely love to see. I often imagine going on a cooking vacation to Italy or France. And I’d hesitate to say no to beaches with warm sand, seashells, and impossibly blue water. I understand why people travel, and I don’t begrudge them that joy for a moment.

But every time I think seriously about planning a trip, I find myself asking a different question.

Is it worth leaving a life I already love?

Because when I look around, I realize that so much of what brings me happiness is already here.

My people are here. Well… to be honest, most of them are living in my house.

If we decide on a whim to have everyone over for burgers in the backyard, everything we need is already here. We can string up the lights, light the barbecue, sit around the table long after the dishes have been cleared away, laughing over stories we’ve heard a dozen times but still enjoy.

If a summer thunderstorm rolls in, we can order pizza, put on a movie, and listen to the rain pound against the windows while we’re warm and dry inside.

On quiet afternoons I can read a good book, work on a puzzle, fuss over my flowers, pull a few weeds, admire something new that’s blooming, or spend an afternoon baking bread that makes the whole house smell welcoming.

Friends can come for dinner without anyone needing a passport.

Christmas can last as long as we want it to. We can linger over traditions, decorate the tree one ornament at a time, celebrate birthdays and anniversaries, and make a much bigger fuss over life’s milestones than the world probably thinks necessary.

These are the things that become a life.

These are the memories that quietly weave themselves into a family.

Perhaps that’s why I don’t really have wanderlust. It’s not that I don’t appreciate beauty in other places. It’s simply that I don’t believe contentment is waiting for me somewhere else. I don’t think joy lives at the end of a boarding pass.

I’ve discovered that home can become its own destination if you’re willing to build it that way.

And then there’s another reason.

As a Christ follower, this world isn’t my final destination anyway. Scripture reminds me that I’m just passing through. So while I’m here, I want to build a life marked by gratitude instead of constantly searching for the next escape. I want a home where people feel welcomed, where meals are shared, where conversations linger, where faith grows quietly, and where love is practiced in a thousand ordinary ways.

Now… if someone happened to offer me a week on a quiet beach with warm sand beneath my feet, seashells scattered along the shore, and an azure ocean stretching to the horizon… I certainly wouldn’t refuse.

Whether it’s worth all the hassle to get there?

The jury’s still out.