When you have a permanent case of wanderlust, as I do, you think a lot about leaving home. Distant hillsides, waterfalls, beaches, and cities call out to be visited. The fragrance of adventure beckons like a heady rose in a garden of delights. Ah, yes, travel!

In a few short years a life of travel will unfold before my husband and me. We won’t be place-bound anymore and will have total say over where we live. As a novelist planning stories set in the UK, we will dwell in that country part-time to research my books. We’ve batted ideas around. How long should we stay in the UK? Travel costs make longer seem better, and we thought about applying for a visa and staying more than a year. We keep coming back to the notion of visiting the UK for six months at a time for research and relaxation, then going home to America to write the books. This was our original thought, but I wanted to write entire series while on location. I’m still enchanted by that idea, so don’t quote me just yet, but it’s looking more likely that we’ll choose the six-month, research-only option.  That surprising fact has taught me something I didn’t fully grasp before.

Having a home to return to is important to me. My husband feels the same. This is not about keeping our present home. Last month, I talked about the emotions of letting go. It’s not easy, but we’re willing. This has to do with something even deeper.

Permanence matters to us. Writing that strikes me as funny. What is travel, which we crave, if not constant change? And yet, there’s something special about coming home to a place you belong. The plans we make to improve the landscape, wash the deck, or even something as simple as cleaning are part and parcel of this experience. As Bilbo Baggins said in The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien: “So home isn’t just a place, it’s also a way of behaving…”

For us, a home means somewhere we spend more time at than away. Yes, we will travel extensively, but then we will come home again.