I once wrote a very short reflection, sort of on the topic above. I thought I'd share it here.

I just want to go home, but I'm already home

I remember being at work, or somewhere else, and thinking over and over again that “I just want to go home.” The hours seemed like days. I’d watch the clock, and it would seem to have stopped. Two minutes before I was officially to be set free, I’d run around the corner and make an escape. I knew that those last two minutes would just kill me, so I had to make the run for it while I could still breathe.

There eventually came a time when I stumbled on that run home, and found myself in a figurative full body cast. Then the only place I could even be is confined at home in my bed. Years passed in that cast and I again began to feel trapped. Out of old habit I’d repeat silently to myself that “I just want to go home. I just want to go home.” But I was home.