On home
(Prepare yourself for possibly the most confusing stream of consciousness entry yet.)
People my age think about the concept of “home” a lot. I’ve read blog entries, angsty emails and had dozens of conversations with people about it. Some of these people love traveling, and get frustrated trying to find a singular “home.” Others have a deep sense of “oneness” with a particular place or area. Still others are so confused by the idea of home, they feel like it doesn’t exist at all.
I’ve had my own musings on it in the past, in part because of my constantly changing address. Lately these musings have been pushed to the forefront of my brain. Some of this emphasis comes from my plans to move in with my boyfriend in a couple of months, and some of it comes from even more substantial life decisions I’m attempting to make.
So for the millionth time, I’m asking, “What makes something home?” While I’m not sure my conclusions have helped me resolve any confusion, I am sure about one thing:
Home is where you can be yourself. It’s where you can truly, 100% relax and don’t feel the need to “try.” This can apply to the living room I’m currently writing from, or more importantly, to the people I’m around.
There are certain people in my life that are most certainly my home. My closest friends from high school, a few people from college, my boyfriend, my family. I am who I am. They put up with me and love me even when I’m overly sensitive or moody or tired or angry or sad or frustrated. When I’m alone or feel out of place, a simple phone call can bring me back to myself, make me feel at peace again.
When I go long periods without seeing these people, I feel like I’m holding my breath. Then, when we meet and smile at one another again, I can breathe. With a few people, I can’t go a week without feeling like I might pass out. With others, I don’t realize how badly my lungs are burning until I see them and breathe the deepest sigh of relief imaginable.
On one hand, this is a great thing. I will always feel at home around the people I love, and therefore have as many homes around the world as I have people I care about. On the other, while it is nice to know the cliche “Home is where the heart is” carries some weight, it makes things problematic. I can never just have one “home.” I’ll always be missing one of my homes. Everyone and every place that makes me feel like me can never all be in one place.
So where does that leave me? I know no home (in human or residential form) is permanent. But how do you know when to move back, stay still or move on? Much like the concept of a soulmate, is there some city, some place where I will feel most at home? Most accepted as part of an entire community?
I love Gainesville. I love Florida. But does that mean there isn’t some other city that has more to offer than I realize I want or need? Is constantly moving forward going to hurt me? Or is standing still?
I guess I’m left with a few tenuous conclusions about myself. I can make most residences and cities feel like home. Given time, I can find people that will care about me and allow me to be myself no matter where I am. Therefore, I can be happy most anywhere. I suppose I’ll just keep trying to make myself happy on a day-to-day basis and see what fate throws my way in the long run.
I create my own home around me.
