If Home Is Where the Heart Is, Wouldn't We All Live in San Francisco?

I'm home.
From home.
Any of you like me -- stuck in this limbo of living someplace (home) that doesn't really feel like it?
Home, the very fundamental idea of it, is so important to me. I just have no idea what it means right now.
I just got to spend two glorious, interesting, busy, relaxing weeks in Ohio, with my family. I'd originally intended to go for a long weekend, celebrating the wedding of my step-sister. (I don't think I've added the "step" for the 25 or so years she's been in my life, but she was kind of a little shit last week and I'm still a little peeved at her, and am choosing not to claim her directly for the time being.) But given recent events, and with a little unforeseen extra time on my hands, I rented a car (I loooooove to drive and I never get to do it anymore, stupid New York City) and made a stay out of it.
It was wonderful. And I'm confused. It's always hard to readjust to being back in Jersey (shut it...) but this time it seems to be particularly unsettling. My main reason for being here is on furlough. So do I stay? Or do I go? And, should I choose the latter, where do I go?
I love home. I love that my entire immediate family is somewhere within 20 miles of each other at any given moment. (This will pop up later in the "con" list as well.) I love my friends that are still there, raising children that I don't know as well as I wish I did, and living lives I don't know enough about. But... it's Dayton. Ohio. Rough in the best of landlocked times, but things are palpably bleak around there these days. Add to that the fact that should I pursue this fledgling writer's life that I'm after, my biggest competition in town would be my dad. Awkward.
Next up would probably be Raleigh. I was there for several years before New York, and it still holds a place in my heart that New York hasn't quite been able to claim. Odd, because my time there was, overall, really painful. But it was a great little town and I feel like I grew up a lot there. To the detriment of both myself and a few key people around me, but hopefully no permanent damage done. But... can you ever really go back again? If I were to pack up and move down there, with no real support system in place there anymore, would it be tarnished? Would I spend the whole time thinking it wasn't quite the same as last time? Hmm.
Then there's the thought of packing up and moving my paltry remaining belongings to Annapolis. But that's just because I'm spitefully stubborn and willfully unwilling to let go. Probably better as a plot than it would actually be in execution.
Key West... Austin... San Diego... So many amazing places to go, to spend time, to grow into the next chapter of this little life story. So many great cities, so much appeal. So much potential.
But which one is mine?