I learned early that home was not necessarily the four walls and the roof. Or the bedroom filled with your precious things — your favorite doll with the over-brushed hair and the cheesy heartthrob posters covering the walls.
My family was nomadic by choice. Since I was very small, we yo-yoed between two houses about thirty minutes from each other — my grandparent's place and the house we lived in on the grounds of the arboretum where my father worked.
When the school week was done we would pack our bags and head to my grandparent's house for the weekend. It became a dependable routine. I primarily lived out of my suitcase because it was easier then packing and repacking the bag.
It wasn't until college when someone asked, "Where do you live?" that it really dawned on me.
Where was home?
Always felt like such a complicated answer. Both places were home to me and yet not.
Because of my circumstances, home became more about people. But home was also a feeling — of familiarity and comfort. A place you could count on. My roots grew from my family, not necessarily the place I lived, and from time shared together.
I have fond memories from both places — exploring the arboretum grounds with my brother, making mud pies in Mommom's tree house, Saturday morning pancakes and bacon, star gazing and playing catch in the big field behind the arboretum house.
I'm married with a family of my own and if you were to ask me where I live I can give you a simple answer — address, city, state. And my suitcases? They only come out for vacations and weekend getaways.But home is still more about who I am with then anything else.
Where is home for you?
Linking today with Lisa-Jo…
4 comments:
Hi Christy,
I found my way to your site from Lisa-Jo's. I wrote something similar on my FMF post about making home a feeling instead of a place. I really liked your post and I'm anxious to explore more of your blog!
My parents bought a new house while I was on my honeymoon. They worried I'd never feel like it was home. I found out wherever my parents were I was "home." I still say I'm going home to Pennsylvania. And I've had my own home for 36 years. It's home, too.
What a neat peak into your childhood with two "homes," and what a good lesson that home is really about who you are with. I feel the same. My parents moved when I was in college, so I've never lived in the town where they've now resided for 15+ years. Visiting their house isn't home, but being with them is.
Thank you, Andrea, Pamela, and Courtney for visiting and commenting! I appreciate that! It's so interesting how vastly different people's experiences are. Not right or wrong, but different. Home is not a building, it's being with the people you love. Amen!
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