Something amazing happened the other day. I woke up in the morning and I was freezing cold. I love feeling chilly. It means fall is coming. It means that I am not plagued by invasive humidity. It means hot apple cider, wool socks, sweaters, pumpkins, mashed potatoes and stuffing, and soon, snow. It means home.
"It is starting to feel like home yet?" my mom asked.
Well...I don't know.
I suppose, since I don't believe in simple answers for heavy questions, that it depends on your definition of home.
If home is where my hat is, then I suppose this is home. If home is where my heart is, then I'm not sure where it is. If home is the place that I dream about, that I miss daily, then home is Minnesota. Maybe that's still too simple of an answer.
I feel a twinge of guilt whenever I say "I'm heading home" as I'm leaving work. Home is Minnesota, I remind myself sternly. But maybe I shouldn't be so hard on myself. I have been doing my best to rephrase; instead of staying, "I'll call you when I get home," I say things like "I'll call you once I'm back in my apartment" or "-when I'm done at work." And while these work perfectly well, they require deliberate thought. "I'm heading home" is so natural. And I know that when I say it I am referring to my apartment. I know that the person I am talking to knows that as well. So perhaps there are multiple levels of home. Perhaps home really can be where your hat is. Home is the place you carve out for yourself; the place you park you car, the place you sleep at night, the place you keep your books and your socks, and the place you use as your return address. Home can mean that place for me, guilt-free, because I know that Minnesota is my Home. So maybe all this stress comes down to a capital letter.
Afterall, there is a reason that Homecoming is such a big deal. No one throws a party when they drive home from work on a Tuesday afternoon. But making the pilgrimage back to your alma mater, your hometown, or your parents' front steps merits a full-hearted celebration, because it is more than a place to keep things or rest your feet--it is your Home.
While Edina is the place that I call home, I think that my home is found even more deeply in people. Home is the place where you belong, where you are not a stranger, where you are loved and comfortable. Seeing my family this past weekend was a great reminder of that, as was seeing my good friends A&R in September. No matter where in the world I find myself, when I am gathered with friends or family, I no longer feel like a stranger. I feel anchored to the people around me, and I am instantly transported back home.
Still, I think Minnesota will always be my Home. Wherever I may roam, I will always be called back to Sweet Home Minnesota, where my heart is, where my favorite people have always gathered, and quite honestly, where the majority of my hats and socks are :)
Love,
Boo
I love this post!
ReplyDeleteI appreciate this a lot; for as we have reflected on before, this stage in life is particularly challenging, no matter our particular circumstances, because we are not surrounded by our community. For me, it has especially made me realize that, I agree, home is when I am with whom I am closest.
I remember resisting calling Olaf home for the first year or so. However, I remember making the transition to feeling proud and comfortable calling it home because I connected to it. Right, it was technically "home" before, I slept there, ate there, etc, but then I formed amazing relationships and the "home" sense was legitimized.
Anyway, the point is that I agree with this post and I appreciate your observation about the majority of your socks and hats. :P I love you!
Ladies - both of you made comments that really resonated with me, even though I'm at a slightly different stage in life.
ReplyDeleteI agree, defining home is a challenge that changes with our individual perspectives and life circumstances. I occasionally still refer to my parents' house in Hopkins where I grew up as home, even though I haven't lived there in a decade.
LauraR described a similar reservation that I felt when it cam to calling UW Eau Claire Home in the beginning of my college career. Somehow, friends allowed the dorm to become Home, and yet Hopkins became "Home-Home." After that, I moved to "the apartment" and called it that for a while.
Three months ago, I purchased a house with a lot of potential. I've had help and spent countless hours peeling away wallpaper, fixing drywall, changing hardware, painting, (still painting actually) and made all kinds of updates to the look and functionality of this place.
All of these things help to make this house my own, but it's a transition that's still in progress. I might call this home, but it doesn't hold the same weight and meaning. Perhaps it will finally be Home after I put up some pictures, maybe decorate for Christmas?
I've had sneak peeks of what this house could become, particularly when my fiance and I get time to make/eat dinner together. It's the simplest activity, but sharing it with Evan gives a glimpse of the the life we'll build together.
You are both spot on: Home can be a place, but it's the people we love and that love us that give it value.
Oh my gosh this made me cry!! All of it!! Comments included!!
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