April 29, 2026–I had dropped off my tax forms at the post office and, as I am oft accused of doing, abruptly headed out the door. The clerk called out to remind me to take my receipt as proof of mailing. I must have appeared impatient, as she good-naturedly explained my behavior to the next person in line as “he was just anxious to get back home.”
That gave me pause. Had I become, not “homeward bound,” but “home bound?”
The concept of “home” is powerful. Our culture is filled with references to it–
- Keep the home fires burning
- Home Sweet Home
- Home is where the heart is
- A man’s home is his castle
- Bring home the bacon
And of course in baseball, the goal is to round all the bases and head for home. That’s a home run.
I first became aware of the powerful attraction of home base as a young boy in the saddle. It was all you could do to get a green horse headed out to the pasture to work on riding. No matter how much I sawed the reins to keep him pointing in the right direction, he was not keen on leaving the comfort of the barn. The minute the riding session was over, it was Katy bar the door, as Ol’ Trigger galloped back to his warm stall and a bait of oats.
Our proclivity for home is manifested in the way we all carry our houses with us like a turtle’s shell. When traveling, your hotel room becomes your refuge. Sure, you venture out to take a selfie in front of every historic marker and marble monument, but as soon as you buy the T-shirt you scurry back to your room.
On the first night you try out the best restaurant. On the second, you eat in the hotel bar. By the third night, you order in a pizza and watch the ball game. Congratulations, you have turned your $400-a-night suite into your parents’ rec room.
When staying as a guest in someone’s home, the first thing we do is stake out our territory and spread out our possessions. Like dogs circling their beds, we build little forts out of suitcases and shoe trees.
This homing instinct permeates every setting where strangers gather. Riding in a carpool, we reclaim the same seats. I know you sit in the same pew, take the same desk in the classroom, pick the same booth at the restaurant. When I took dance classes, every dancer unerringly flew to the same point on the barre, like a barn pigeon perched in the rafters.
Why do we act this way? The cynical view is that we are all creatures of habit, scared of trying anything different, perhaps even superstitious about sitting in a different chair.
The more generous view is that when we are in a group setting, trying to learn a new skill, seeking new adventure, or meeting new people, anything we can do to minimize the newness helps reduce anxiety and lets us focus on the task. Imagine waking up in a world where each day you had to relearn where you kept your clothes, where the bathroom was, and which direction was north. Standardizing those environmental markers frees your mind to deal with more important issues such as which color shirt best sets off your hair tint as you pose in front of the Mona Lisa.
There really is no place like home. That’s why no matter where we go, we turn it into home.