Echoes and silence, patience and grace
All of these moments I’ll never replace
No fear of my heart, absence of faith
And all I want is to be home
– Dave Grohl
Earlier this week, for complicated reasons to do with Himself’s work, I found myself staying at my parents house. As I woke up in the room that was my brother’s childhood bedroom, I started to think about home. And what home means.
A week or two ago Catherine wrote about what home meant to her. In a comment to that post I said that I felt I’d moved around too much to really call anywhere “home” anymore. That home was somewhere in my heart .
My parents’ house is not my childhood home. I was 18 and either in a disastrous period at culinary school or Australia when they moved there. My room is sweet and tiny and has a little sink in the corner but it is not “my room”. That is in another house, in another part of Cambridge, hopefully being enjoyed by another angsty teenager with dodgy taste in music.
While I was studying for my Masters degree I lived with my parents. It was brilliant of them to put me up for free and I had a lot of fun living there, but in many ways it was just another move, in a long series of moves throughout my 20s. I’ve lost count of how many houses and apartments I’ve lived in. I’ve never felt rooted anywhere. One of my biggest problems is my inability to stay grounded.
I’m more settled since I’ve met Himself (although having said that I believe we’ve moved four times in the four years we’ve been together) and of course the cats need a roof over their heads. But I still have difficulty telling you what “home” means to me. Sometimes it’s this big comfy purple chair from whence I type my blog each day. Sometimes it’s in bed with a good book. Sometimes it’s on my yoga mat. But there is always a place in my heart, a place made of dreams and hopes and memories, a place that remains rose-tinted, where the sun always shines, that is my home. Bricks and mortar pale into insignificance compared to this.
Where is “home” for you?
As someone who has moved from one end of the world to the other, and then 5 times in the space of 10 years in a new country, home has taken on many dimensions and meanings – somewhere I crave to curl up, a longed for place to return to, a place where I bump into friends in the supermarket, or see familiar faces on the street, a sanctuary, a place of memories, a friendship, a bowl of soup, an ache, a gradual settling of my bones into a new culture, a hug – but over the years I’ve learned that home is ‘less about where you live and more about who you are and what you love’. Home can be anywhere as long as I am at peace with myself and my neighbours.
One of my favourite home quotes: ‘Houses are made of wood and stone, but only love can make a home.’
x
p.s. made your zucchini cakes this week – definitely on the repeat list!
I agree 100%.
The other day I told Andrew that home was where he was…..
which I never thought I’d find “home” in someone like I did.
I agree totally – I have moved so much during my 20s that I didn’t have a place to feel as home. I have recently realised (and my former hard arse goth self would kick me for saying this) but it is in my other half’s arms. *bleugh* but its true. Even more so as I don’t like the area we live in and I don’t like this house.
Home for me is wherever my husband and puppy are. I always jokingly say that my pup “smells like cuddles” because, really, his soft doggy scent embodies comfort and closeness. Similarly, wherever my husband is, I am totally myself; no masks, no covers, no uncertainty. That’s my home.
I have moved 6 times in the past 7 years–thankfully all the in same city, but it still makes it hard to feel “home” and my parents just moved out of the house I grew up in last year. I agree that home is much more of a feeling than a place. I feel at home when I am in my bed! I know it sounds strange, but its been a constant through all the moves, snuggling up and relaxing there makes me feel at home.
I echo your post. I moved around a lot growing up too and when I got married, we moved every 3 years or so. We are now 1.5 years into where we are living in Sunnyvale once again. There is a bet on us to see how long we are going to last and where we are moving next… gotta go with the flow, I say and home resides beyond any walls.
Much like the others, home is where my family and my heart is. Gorgeous post Rachel.
I so agree! I’ve moved over ten times in my life, and at some point I started realizing that home is in the present moment–wherever I am. Thanks for this!
Home used to be my dad’s ranch, and in a way, it still is. But, nothing is home like the house that the wonderful husband and I bought last year. If you were gonna stick build my soul, it would look like this house!