I’m pretty confident that there aren’t too many Caribbean island owners among the readership. I’m not talking about land ownership in the tropics as the subject, although I would not argue with anyone who forced a small atoll on me.

We all have our own island, it’s just not a completely physical place.

I read an article recently — please don’t ask me where, I haven’t a clue – that describes the island that belongs to each of us. We all have our own space, our refuge, even if we live in the thick of a dense population. I know that sounds crazy, but stick with me. I am not a philosopher or a shrink, but the article I read has captured me for a few weeks. I found the idea interesting, explored it in my mind, and now I’m sending it your way.

Each of us has our own world, populated by job demands, family obligations, physical problems, commitments – all the demands on our time. Each day we try to carve out of that time what makes it really worthwhile: family and friends, a hot meal, fellow team or club members, hobbies, and just plain old relaxation, flopping in front of the latest from Netflix.

But where does each day in our world end? If we are lucky, it is on our island; our tranquility base, private and unique, formed by our thoughts, feelings, and reactions to all that surrounds us.

When we grow up in one place, our island is easy to identify. It is where we are secure – our personal isle of safety, the protection of our parents, the comfort of everything that’s familiar. I guess I should include food, clothing, and blankets. Oh, and let us not forget love. The complete homestead.

I think that is the ideal everyone would probably imagine as the perfect childhood.

Maybe add in some siblings, extended family, friends, and good neighbors, the island becomes very secure. Top it off with a good school experience, toys, sports, fun, music – whatever delivers childhood joy – and your island is both caring and carefree, the perfect balance. It is the place that forms you – the future you, the adult you.

How many of us really have that model childhood? I’m thinking some, but by no means close to a majority. And yet, most of us, whether we realize it or not, carve out our own island.

We find a way, whatever our circumstances, to create our individual world, our place of comfort, and solace that is uniquely ours… our own snug harbor.

OK, but what if the island, the one place that should be enveloping and comforting … is not? There are those – I have even been related to a few – who can’t abide the penning-in, the suffocation of their island. Maybe the need to leave comes from problems at home, maybe it’s a miserable job situation, maybe they just have to get out of town and find a place that doesn’t stifle them. I know there are some people who long for the big city. Lucille Ball comes to mind.

She headed for the Big Apple, alone, at age 15.

I have compassion for the rudderless souls who can’t locate their island – adrift, seeking landfall at the right place, the right person. Or maybe, due to challenges beyond their control, commitment to anything is impossible. And there are those who might never find their anchorage – they drift with the currents, unable to steer their own boat.

I have only gratitude thinking of how easily that could have been me, if my island shelter had not had a strong foundation. The more I thought about this, the more I understood how critical our havens are to us.

When I leave home for a trip, I’m always delighted at the prospect that awaits, whatever fun or interesting new experience lies ahead. Most often the happy trip is to family and grandchildren. Plus, the jaunt is always a nice change from my everyday.

But in recent years, more and more, I look forward to the journey’s end equally as much.

I look forward to returning to my island, my refuge.

Home awaits, opening its arms to my travel fatigue, offering sanctuary with Dear

Richard and Finian, my furry friend. Then, back to MY chair, MY bed, and MY iced coffee, along with only MY memories, MY new thoughts and mental pictures of the time away.

I don’t need ocean breezes or swaying palms to welcome me back to my island home, my personal comfort zone. My serenity lives where I thankfully count on it being.

Here.

Marcy O’Brien can be reached at Moby.32@hotmail.com