This is an interesting term. Used by millions- in marketing, in conversation, in journals, etched into tables, when talking about love, even used when talking about the planet as a whole. Thrown around and celebrated, battered, charmed, this word, this home that we all know so well (in one way or another), is the greatest and most showcased scar of our existence. How we make it, how we say it, who we say it with, the products we produce in our homes, all of these create the strongest thread of our existence. Our comfort, or lack there of, our humanity, our mistakes, joys, and triumphs: home is important all year long and present, in some way, always.
This has become a focal point of mine lately. It has been brought to my attention that my "home" exists in many places. Part of it is with the people that I love. Part of it is connected to the land I grew up on. Part of it is where I want to be, the places that I see myself (hopefully) going to. Part of it is in music. And there is a decent portion still up for interpretation, still not spoken for.
I go through cycles of sanity. I coast out on the tails of whatever challenge I overcame last time, and then something stirs me up again. This time it is because someone I love is moving away indefinitely, and I am scrambling around in all other areas of my life trying to collect the meaning, the purpose, that used to be held so comfortably within the bounds of this love. The love is not leaving, but its material form is flying away on Monday. I only have a few days. I can't sleep, I am writing more (likely good, but inspired by an ache), and I am frequently looking out at the life I have created, and wondering what I am supposed to do with it all. I like it. I even love it at times, but there is just no particular destination in sight. Physically, yes- I want to move to San Francisco, but i have a sneaking suspicion that even in the event of moving, this search for something that grounds me, will only continue. And likely with a greater ferocity.
I am grateful that it is sunny. I am grateful for smiles. This sounds cliche, but I mean it with the greatest sincerity. Every time that I catch myself smiling unintentionally, I am thrilled. The good news, is that despite the overall feeling of hovering (like I am not quite anywhere, really), I seem to smile a lot. Even when I am pissed. Even when I am trying to learn to like the latest asshole that walked into my life. Even when work becomes a shit show. Even when I am afraid that my account balances are going to slam down on nothing. Even when I have to say goodbye to friends, release my little sister into the craziness that I still haven't managed to get a hold of, or when I am up early enough to know that the daylight is shrinking and the darkness is speeding back towards us. It feels like some terrible secret that I have the privilege of knowing early, just like I have the privilege of being an adult and making my own decisions.
And I don't think that any of this is ever really going to stop. It is just going to shift, twist, meander, and leave me. Just like a love that is flying away, far to the east. Just like me, flying away to the south. And so, with the most amount of dignity I can manage, I will try to wear my heart on my sleeve, not to be foolish, but rather to be seen as a person. A real one. That is painstakingly trying to pick up the pieces, make the appropriate next step, and get on with it.
What's that line from the "Wear sunscreen" song?
ReplyDeleteThe most interesting people I know didn’t know at 22 what they wanted to do with their lives /
Some of the most interesting 40-year-olds I know still don’t.
I think that applies to Home as well, but first, a small digression. Let's admit it, we're never getting our childhood Homes back. It's almost weird to go back there now; the intimately familiar has been rendered somehow foreign. My room is now a den with a TV and a couch. It's where the new dog sleeps.
Once expelled from our childhood Homes, we all yearn to return, but we can't. Because they don't exist anymore, and even if they did and could return we would feel like strangers visiting a museum of our childhoods. And so we try to move on, but with nothing to tie us down we are fated to wander. This is the point in our lives when older people remind us that "Home is where the Heart is," trying to ease this often painful transition a little. Really, though, I've got no problem with wandering. In fact, I fancy myself something of a sedentary wanderer, always ready for an adventure or just some aimless travel, but cursed to sit in a classroom and learn something that probably doesn't matter. I'm comfortable with the idea of wandering, and I'm comfortable with it because I know that some day, whether I intend it or not, I will look up and discover that I am Home.
And that's where the song comes in. I have friends that have married and had kids already and probably have something that very much resembles a Home, maybe not so much to them, but certainly to their children. Honestly, they're kinda boring though. And hanging out with them, I can't help but get the feeling they envy my freedom. I know some 40-year-olds, on the other, that have yet to create their own Homes. They are the seasoned World Travelers, the Story Tellers, the ones that always seem to have this funny little rye smile crinkling the corners of their lips as if they know something profound and I don't.
Oh, someday I'll find myself Home again. It's almost inevitable. But I don't think it's something you can consciously try to build. I think it's something that kinda just happens, slowly, and then one day you look up from some bills as the dog chases your child, shrieking with delight, across a living room strewn with toys and that's when it hits you: I'm Home.
btw, first time I've ever posted on a blog in my life. Exciting Friday night I've got going here...
Kendall, your writing inspires me to lie in my hammock, gaze at the stars and think.......! You are a beautiful woman with a truly incredible gift. Thanks for sharing it with me.
ReplyDeleteAlso, your friend Casey is a wonderful writer too. I enjoyed reading her interpretation of "home".