I like to be at home because I just travel so much. I have four

Denise Richards speaks with tenderness and truth when she declares: “I like to be at home because I just travel so much. I have four dogs, golden retrievers.” These words, though simple, echo with the wisdom of ages. They reveal the eternal rhythm between journey and rest, between the faraway road and the familiar hearth. For the soul cannot wander without end, nor remain still forever. There must be a return, a place where love dwells and peace is renewed.

The meaning is clear: though travel brings adventure and expansion, the heart longs for home—for the warmth of belonging, the quiet of safety, the joy of companionship. In naming her four dogs, she speaks not merely of animals, but of loyalty, affection, and unconditional love. The golden retrievers are symbols of constancy, ever waiting, ever faithful, reminding her that no matter how far she journeys, there is a circle of trust that does not break.

The ancients, too, honored this balance. Recall the wanderings of Odysseus, who roamed the seas for twenty years. Though he beheld the wonders of Troy, the halls of kings, and the songs of enchantresses, his heart was drawn ever back to Ithaca, where hearth and kin awaited. His journeys were vast, but his longing was simple: to sit again in his own hall, to rest by the fire, to be with those who knew him not as a warrior, but as husband, father, and friend. Denise’s words echo this same longing: the great adventure finds its completion not in the world’s applause, but in the quiet return to home.

There is also wisdom in her mention of dogs. Throughout history, the dog has been a symbol of loyalty. The tale of Hachik? in Japan tells of a faithful animal who, even after his master’s death, returned daily to the station to wait for him, year after year. Such devotion mirrors the constancy that human souls crave: in a world of endless movement, there must be one place, one companion, that does not falter. Denise finds this in her golden retrievers—living reminders that love is not bought by fame or fortune, but given freely in the bonds of trust.

Her words remind us, too, of the hidden cost of travel. To move often is to scatter the self, to live in transition. The glamour of distant lands can weary the spirit if not balanced by roots. Thus, her affection for home is not weakness, but strength: the recognition that rest is as sacred as motion, that the soul blossoms not only in discovery, but in the quiet presence of the familiar.

So what is the teaching? It is this: seek both the road and the hearth. Journey far so that your mind may grow, but return often so that your heart may rest. Treasure the companions who await you faithfully, whether family, friends, or humble creatures like dogs, who embody love without condition. In this balance lies true wealth, greater than crowns or coins.

Practical wisdom follows: make a home for yourself, not merely a house. Fill it with love, with loyalty, with life—be it family, companions, or even the faithful presence of animals. When you travel, do so with joy, but do not forget to return. For it is in the return that the journey gains meaning, and it is in the circle of home that the restless spirit finds peace.