Been thinking lately about the idea of home and what it means to me.
I have spent so many years traveling and living in different places that to me the idea of home brings up mixed feelings. When I go back to visit my mom in my “childhood home,” the house I grew up in, it feels like “home” but I don’t think it is the actual rooms or the belongings in the house, which have all changed over the years, but it’s my mom. The thing that my childhood home gives me is really just memories. My mom has years and years and YEARS worth of photo albums with more memories. But can’t I feel those same memories anyplace or just in when I am in the physical home?
I think about the first “home of my own” that I ever lived in as an adult. It was an apartment in Vermont and my husband and I moved in right before Thanksgiving. I remember making Cornish hens because it was just the 2 of us and why make a big turkey, right? We ate at a card table as it was all we had, but it felt like our home. Even though we had no family around, hadn’t made any friends yet, but it was our space, so it was home.
Years later I can remember living in my tent for 3 months. At the end of the workday I would venture to the bath house, wash up and then curl up in a sleeping bag for the night. During the day I worked in a cafe, but at night I got to go to my “home in the woods.” At the end the 3 months I remember going back to my apartment (where I had been living in an unhealthy relationship) and that first night in bed I missed my tent, the ground, the sounds of nature and my home.
A few years later I went back to work at the same place where I lived in my tent, and this time my home was a travel trailer (parked in a campground) and that was probably one of my favorite homes. When I think about why, I think it is because it was the first place that was truly just mine and I started to feel at home with myself.
Over the last 20 years I have lived in so many different environments, locations, situations, and some felt like home, while others felt like a place to live. What was the difference?
The first 10 of those years I spent living and working in various communities Omega Institute, Menla Mountain, Mount Madonna Center, Pendle Hill) and my home was surely the people I was working and living with. Whether my physical home was a room, a trailer, a tent, a cottage, an apartment, or a house; the community was what felt like home. And feeling accepted for who I was in all those communities. Finding your tribe as they say.
The next 10 years I was not moving about as much but still had 4 different physical homes in 2 different states. 2 houses and 2 apartments and with all of them I learned how to easily make it a home. Maybe as I get older I am realizing that home for me is really being at home in my own skin.
Another thing that gives me the feeling of home is the physical landscape of a place. Whenever I arrive at the beach, whether it is Jones Beach in NY on a winter day or the rocky coast of Maine on a summer morning, I get that same feeling of a deep exhale and settling into myself. Being around water in general is deeply soothing to my soul, but there is something extra soothing about the ocean and the salty briny smell.
Currently I am living in a home that belongs to someone else (in fact it has belonged to a lot of people over the years, as it is over 150 years old.) What gives me the feeling of home is that I look out my window and see Lake Champlain and across the lake are the Adirondack mountains. I am able to step out my front door and wander the trails through the woods. In this place nature is my home.
When I feel “at home” in a place I get to use all my senses. I see the beauty around me, I hear the sounds that soothe me. I touch the things that bring me connection. I smell the scents that trigger memories or bring me pleasure. I hear the sounds of nature, the birds, the waves or the voice of someone I love. And of course even taste is a big connection to feeling at home. Whether it is my favorite bagels, pizza, croissants or the perfect cup of coffee with my mom’s brownies, taste can give me the feeling of home.
When I think about home and what it means to me. Feeling at home allows me to be more myself, creative, curious and connecting. Recovering from my eating disorder has definitely helped me feel more at home in my body, when for years I just battled with it. Turns out home really isn’t about a place for me anymore. And maybe that is a good thing. My wandering soul and spirit has allowed me to feel at home in so many places.
What does home mean to you? I’d love if you shared that with me in the comments or send me a message.
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I love how you describe feeling more at home in your own skin, both physically and also spiritually. Having a sense of myself has made me feel more at home as well. I also love a cozy chair or corner of a couch to curl up in!
What first came to mind is that cliche quote, home is where the heart is but perhaps there is a lot of truth in that. Homes come in so many shapes and sizes but they always hold out hearts and what is dear to us. For example when living in a tent you can only have so many things. When bike packing you bring necessities and one item that is a must have. Mine is my journal and writing tool. And in my journal is where you will find my heart. So I guess home for me is where my writing journal sits.