When someone asks me where home is, referring to where I grew up, I often joke that I'm homeless, having been an Army brat with frequent moves throughout my childhood. But as I write tonight, I may be closer to not having a home than ever before (my mortgage holder would vehemently disagree with this, as it is firmly expecting to be paid on the first of the month). Before I go on to explain this, I want to take a moment to clarify that I'm totally speaking with tongue in cheek here, and my clever introduction should not in any way be taken to diminish the difficult plight of those who truly are homeless.
Today I drove away from the home I bought almost thirteen years ago (again, my mortgage holder should not panic; the check is in the mail, and someone else is moving in right behind me). I love that house. Oh, there are times when I hated being a homeowner, but overall, I love that house. Maybe it has something to do with the memories that are now associated with it. It was my first house, a huge turning point in my life. All five of the cats who have owned me have lived there, and I'll never forget the first night they came into their new home and began to explore. It's the house in which I stayed up all night waiting to see if I'd gotten a job as collection development librarian, work to which I've become incredibly attached. This is where all kinds of conversations with special friends have happened. I've never been known as an outdoor person, but this is the yard in which my mom taught me how to take care of some basic plants and learn a little something about landscaping (some of it actually took). My dad taught me the wonders a garage has to offer when, after living in my house for 6 or 7 years, he arranged for me to get a garage door opener that really worked, allowing me to park in the garage and stop scraping my windows for the first time in, well, ever. This is the house in which I hosted several borders who have become wonderful friends. Where my mom and I returned after an amazing trip to Iceland. Where I baked my first loaves of bread. Where I went to at the end of the day to recharge. Aren't these the things that make a home?
But tonight, most of my possessions are on a truck, someone else is moving into my house, and I'm on the road as I make my way to my new apartment in Gainesville, Florida. My lease does not start until tomorrow. Does that make me homeless? Sasha's with me, so if she's part of what makes a home, maybe home is portable. When I move into my new apartment tomorrow, will it automatically become home? My parents will be there to help me settle. It will soon contain my possessions, my cat, and my return address. And a really awesome screened in porch. It will be the place to which I will return each evening. Surely those are the things that makes it home. Or does it? It won't contain any memories for me, good or bad. Yet. But it IS the place where the start of a new job and new goals will begin. Does that make it home?
It occurs to me that one of the biggest changes happening has to do not with the actual building in which I'm living but the location of that building. The Raleigh area is a great place to live, and I've thoroughly enjoyed my time there. So much so that I feel like an NC native, even if only by adoption. Not only do I have favorite restaurants and stores, but I have long time service professionals in my dentist, veterinarian, hairdresser, and doctor. Plus they know me and my favorite sandwich at Quiznos. Does having a history in a certain vicinity make it home? Maybe the Cheers folks had it right. We all want to be somewhere where everybody knows your name. Okay, so it will take a while, but new histories begin all the time, so if having a history in a certain place makes it home, then it's just a matter of time before a new location becomes home, right?
When does something move from being a place where you live to a home? I know people in their forties, fifties, and sixties who still call the place they grew up home, regardless of how long it's been since they've actually lived there. Did they decide not to create a new home, or does that mean that home can't change once it's established? Maybe home isn't even a place, but rather, a social structure of some kind. For some, home refers to the place where they find their family. Until recently, the place we called home usually referred to some kind of limited geographic region. But in the past several years, communication options have changed enormously, and it's possible to talk to friends and family quickly and easily, even with video, anytime. Is home where your friends and family are? Am I getting closer to home because I'm moving physically closer to my parents, even though I've never lived in their current house? Can I take home with me because I can continue the relationships that were so much a part of my life in my last home?
I don't have a definition for home yet, and maybe I won't find one. Meanwhile, I'm going to choose to make home be flexible enough (and I'm nothing if not flexible) to encompass not just the place to which I return each evening but the people to whom I turn each day. No matter where they are. I'd love to hear other definitions!
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