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I recently moved to a new house that is within a few miles of the city that I grew up in. It’s great being around old friends again, and quite frankly, feeling “home.” I’ve been a bit of a nomad for the past 10 years, so I’ve had a hard time considering anywhere “home.” From the Marine Corps to the Silicon Valley to Los Angeles and finally back home, in a desert community outside of Palm Springs.

The point was firmly made to me yesterday when I stopped in at the local barber shop to get my haircut before heading to the conference next week.

I had never met him before, but the barber was:

• An uncle of a good friend in high school.
  
• Was a Sheriff’s Deputy for 30 years, and knew one of my best friends who is currently a Deputy and his entire family, including their grandfather.

I was even able to deduce his last name without him telling me it, just by who he knew.

They say you can’t go home again. “They” are wrong.