I have always drawn strength from being close to home.

Arthur Ashe, the noble champion whose life was marked by both triumph and trial, once confessed: “I have always drawn strength from being close to home.” In this utterance lies a truth as old as mankind—that the hearth, the soil of one’s birth, the voices of kin, and the memory of one’s roots are reservoirs of endurance. To Ashe, who faced the storms of both sport and life, home was no mere dwelling of brick and wood; it was the sanctuary of the spirit, the fountain from which courage flowed, the ground upon which identity stood firm.

The strength of home is unlike all other strengths. Victories abroad may dazzle, but they are fleeting; honors may crown the head, but they are soon forgotten. Yet the love and familiarity of home endure, binding the heart with invisible cords. For in the stillness of home, the weary warrior finds rest; in the embrace of family, the burdened soul finds renewal; in the memory of one’s origins, the wandering heart finds direction. Thus Ashe’s words are not mere nostalgia, but testimony: when the world pressed heavily upon him, he turned inward toward the sacred ground of his beginning, and there he found resilience.

Consider the life of Ashe himself. Born in Richmond, Virginia, in a time when barriers of race seemed insurmountable, he ascended to heights no man of his circumstance had yet reached, becoming the first Black man to win Wimbledon. The arenas of the world were often hostile, the challenges relentless. Yet he carried within him the quiet dignity of his upbringing, the teachings of his father, the discipline instilled by his community. In the roar of the crowd and the loneliness of the court, it was his closeness to home—not just the place, but the values it gave him—that gave him strength to endure and to win.

History, too, bears witness to this eternal law. Recall Odysseus, that ancient wanderer, who endured storms, monsters, and trials unnumbered. What gave him the will to persevere through twenty years of hardship? It was the memory of home—his wife Penelope, his son Telemachus, his beloved Ithaca. Though he faced kingdoms and temptations abroad, it was the longing for the soil of his origin that lent him strength to defy gods and fate alike. So too with every exile, every pilgrim, every soldier: the thought of home is often the secret power that sustains the journey.

The imagery of Ashe’s words is gentle, yet powerful: to be “close to home” is not only to dwell within its walls, but to carry its spirit wherever one goes. It is to let the lessons of one’s upbringing, the values of one’s people, and the love of one’s family form an unshakable fortress within. The man who forgets his home may win the world and yet be hollow; but the man who remembers his home carries within him a light that cannot be extinguished. Home is both anchor and compass—it steadies and it guides.

What then shall we learn from this? That no matter how far life scatters us, we must never sever the cord that ties us to our roots. In times of trial, turn back to the memory of where you came from. In seasons of success, return with gratitude to those who gave you wings. Call upon your elders, cherish the wisdom of your family, and hold fast to the soil of your beginning. For in this closeness lies a wellspring of courage, humility, and balance.

Practically, this means to stay grounded in gratitude. Visit the home that raised you, if not in body, then in heart. Speak often with your kin, honor your ancestors, uphold the traditions that shaped you. In a world that tempts us to forget our roots in pursuit of glory, choose instead to remain rooted, drawing strength not from applause, but from the enduring flame of home.

Thus, take Ashe’s words as a lamp for your journey: draw strength from being close to home. For in home lies the power to endure hardship, the courage to face trials, and the wisdom to walk humbly even upon the heights of greatness. Let this truth be carried in your heart, and you will never wander without a compass, nor fight without strength.