"Home is where..."

So, I apologize to my "fans" for the sporadic entries of late. November was a long, rough month to say the least. It culminated in TWO trips back east in a week. I'll get into some of that in the near future, in a series of entries.
I'd be remiss though, if I didn't acknowledge the fact that Bubba and I just celebrated our first anniversary out west this weekend. What a year it's been. And how appropriate I think, that our first visit back essentially coincided with this milestone. As such, we were able to get a refresher crash course on all things East to compare to.
When we got on the plane to New York, both of us were giddy at the prospect of heading "home." The skyline, the food, and of course, the people. And the cab ride from JFK, after a slap in the face of Northeast cold, seemed to cement those sentiments. Sure, we rode through the less than flattering parts of Queens (are there flattering parts of Queens?), but as the skyline came into view, it really did feel like home. Mind you, that was a semi-disturbing development, seeing as we now live in L.A.
The week was filled with requisite subway/cab rides, delicious bagels and pizza, fast-paced pedestrians, stinking sidewalk garbage, Midtown Christmas decorations, and everything else we remembered so fondly.
But a funny thing happened on the way to the forum. At some point in time, unbeknownst to either of us, the first chinks in the armor of remembrance appeared. Not in any tangible form. Not in any way that I can concretely point to. Still, when our week was up something amazing happened: We were EXCITED to go home to Los Angeles. Not towards anything in particular, but genuinely happy to be heading back to LaLa. And that's a good thing.
I left the title to this open-ended because I don't have an answer. When I was younger, and the homestead was still intact, "home" was very obvious. The large structure where I spent my formative years, where my family was, was home. But that's gone now. My parents live in apartments that I've never stayed in for an extended time. I've spent no more than 4 years in any of my rented residences. I've been here for but a year. So where that leaves me is that while the east is still forever "home," as that's where I'm from, and where so many of my people are, "home" is also, ostensibly, like the cliche says, where I lay my head. Where I'm with my new clan. My Bubba. Orville. The cats. I guess more than, anything, home is where you're loved. And I'm lucky enough to be bi-coastal.