So, now that I’m firmly back on American soil, I’ve been spending a lot of time with my family and pets (check out Harley Maximilian, pictured here, after one of our bonding+jogging sessions). In addition to reconnecting with others, I’ve also been reconnecting with my environment, thinking a lot about where I’m going next… and I don’t mean trips. Deciding on new short-term destinations is easy (Oslo? Lima? Kigali? Okinawa?), but choosing a city that will be my next home?

Not so much.

This seemingly basic, but sometimes complex, concept of “home” is something I’ve thought about since I can remember. I am a child of split families, of military and government agency relocation; by my 18th birthday, I’d lived in over 25 houses. Home was always where my parents were…but that was then. It was before I went to university in one area and graduate school somewhere else; before I practiced law in two different cities; before I cavorted around Australiasia or got an address in Paris. Now, however, this extraordinary exposure leaves me with the simultaneous frustration and freedom of figuring it out anew.

In other words, where is home, exactly?

Is your home where you were born? Where your parents reside? Where you’ve lived the longest? Where your current job is? Your kids’ school? Your grocery store? Your significant other? When do we identify ourselves as “New Yorkers” or “Washingtonians” or “Floridians” and, perhaps more importantly, why?

Clearly, the answers for many people are straightforward — it is where they were born, or where they work, or where their daughters are enrolled in ballet class. For my stepmom, it’s a small town in Maryland, where my brother (her son) is in grammar school; for one of my best friends, it’s Tucson’s desert, where she enjoys taking walks with her pup; for a former lover, it’s Washington, where he grew up; a former fellow traveler, Perth, where her masters program is. These people have got it down.

Get a geographically flexible girl like me, however, and the answer is more curious. All I’ve determined is that I will stay in the U.S. for now, and that — barring any extraordinary circumstances that may arise, like a sudden need to volunteer in Bangalore — I will likely reestablish myself in Washington or New York.

But which one is still a mystery, as the usual questions don’t apply; I wasn’t born in either of these cities, I don’t have a traditional job that favors one over the other, I don’t have any daughters yet. Nothing points me in the “right” direction (in fact, having gotten around a bit, I feel pretty good in most places).

It all means that, as I’ve found myself doing a lot these days, I just have to come up with my own unique questions, travel a different way. My answer will be rooted in instinct, and supported by a million signs from the universe. Translation: I may very well make a decision in-part on a random “Where Should You Live” quiz on Facebook, a song I hear on the radio, a persuasive comment to this post, or a fortune cookie.

Some might say that’s just crazy. I suggest that it’s complete faith. Total spontaneity. Unapologetic autonomy. Continuous adventure. It is, in many ways, the life I dreamed of and the one I’ve created. And no matter where I settle, that alone makes it feel like I’m already succeeding.