It is good to feel lost… because it proves you have a navigational sense of where “Home” is. You know that a place that feels like being found exists. And maybe your current location isn’t that place but, Hallelujah, that unsettled, uneasy feeling of lost-ness just brought you closer to it. ~Erika Harris
I found this quote the other day while I was looking for content to use for one of my social media clients. And this, combined with the fact that my parents are in the process of getting the homestead ready for sale, started me on a philosophical tear about the concept of “home”.
I love my “home.” And yes, part of that is that the house is nice. But mostly it’s about the people that live here, the pets we share, the routines and traditions, the foods we eat (or refuse to eat). The whole package that makes this our home. The place that feels like being found.
For a few months I thought we were going to have to move to a different house. And I struggled with the idea of recreating our home in a different place. I don’t think that the fundamental homeness is tied to this location. I don’t believe that the yard, and the cul-de-sac, and the ceiling fan that makes a weird noise, and the color of the walls are requirements for us to feel at home. But what if they were?
I was really relieved that it is going to be possible for us to stay here – in the house that contains our home.
I don’t want to lose my sense of home. Through the past eighteen months of surreal change, that is one of the few things that has not taken a hit. Thank goodness.
But then I think about the fact that my almost-ex opted OUT of this home. The idea of being at home here didn’t appeal to him any longer. He didn’t want to eat the food, and live the traditions. Did he not like that feeling of home? Or did it not feel like home to him?
Once he said that his home was wherever I was. I guess that is no longer the case. Or it is and he just doesn’t value it anymore. I can’t think about it too much or my brain starts to hurt.
I had a friend years ago whose parents split when he was in high school. After that point he really did not have a sense of home. His father stayed in the family home, but it remained a shrine to what once had been – and without his Mom’s presence if felt empty and incomplete. His Mom moved to a shiny new apartment that he had never lived in. It was her home, not his.
He spent years of his early adulthood moving from place to place. Switching roommates. Switching towns. Switching careers. Looking for a life and a place that felt like home. Trying to feel found. It was one of the saddest things I have ever experienced. That lostness. That lack of an anchor.
I don’t want my kids to ever have a question of where home is. And again, it isn’t about the physical location.
As I said, my parents are planning to move. And although I am sure the fact that I haven’t lived with them in over 20 years is part of it, I am fairly untroubled by their decision.
Because their home will always be where you can sit at the kitchen table and chat while Mom cooks. Where their loaner dog sleeps in his little blue bed. Where you can find big hugs and understanding ears. A Christmas tree covered in history. And maybe some Chicken Pot Pie.
Home is wherever they are. And that’s exactly how it should be.