I was speaking with a friend here today and she made an interesting statement as we spoke of Easter and being with family. She has a boyfriend here and she said that now home was wherever he was. It was sweet and obviously true. I asked a few more people where home is and many answered home is where they were born, or where their parents are. The phrase “Home is where the heart is” comes to mind too; I wonder what this means about me when my reaction used to be “Home is where the computer is”. I spent the last few months before moving out here spending about a third of my time on my parents couch (partly because I like my parents and their food, and partly because getting in a bed alone or under covers at all seems to be an issue for me). The way they determined if I was going to be staying there was if I had left my computer or not. Attached to connection? Maybe. But my computer meant my writing; a place to store thoughts and feelings so that they don’t begin to burn me with their vividness and that was home for me.
As I come across the first holiday and consequentially chain of events I am missing back home (Easter, conference, a wedding and my own birthday) I find myself considering this question of home. I am fortunate to have a family that I trust will always accept me back with them. Between my loving father in Las Vegas, my tender mother in Utah and my sweet grandma in Florida; I can always find a place. I also assume that at some point I will come across someone who becomes my home; a new refuge for the inner turmoil and angst (!) of life. So maybe home is where the people you’ve shared your heart with are; the place you trust to store part of yourself (and your possessions if you’re my mom!).
However, for the last several years I have felt slightly uprooted and uneasy about this topic, which I suppose is largely due to my age and journey of “self discovery”. But as I thought about it I realized this truth: I am my own home and anywhere I am is my home. It just sunk into my skin like sunshine that home is not a physical place, but a state of being. A state where you feel ok about who you are, where you are, and what you are doing. As I asked a few people where home was, they all seemed to answer that home was the place, or the person that made them feel the most kept, even if they couldn’t quite articulate that. It was the place they could relax because they knew they would be suspended and buoyed up with love consistently. And it occurred to me that I wanted to have that everywhere and even more incredibly, that I could. I can find love, friendship, a guru and comfort wherever I land. I will land on my feet like a cat from high heights, but it doesn’t help to have such a thick cushion of love just in case.
Now as I sit typing this I feel at ease and sure in my own skin for the moment, and it’s a damn good feeling. I still feel like I should end up wherever my computer is and on a more eccentric note, I am finding I like sleeping on couches no matter where I am living (here I have found a lovely white one that is home during many yoga retreats). I also think I will still miss my family and friends regardless of current residence. And I will also admit I ache for Utah Mountains, especially this time of year when I know they are coming alive again after the gray that is winter. So don’t worry everyone, I still miss all of you and know you’ll be thinking of me and I you when the day you would have spent giving me my much earned “Kelsey Day” feels empty and devoid of light. ;)
Sleep tight in your homes mon amis.