I’m a lucky, if not confusing, girl. You see, I believe that home is where my happy is. And I am lucky to have lots of homes.
Let’s start at the very beginning — a very fine place to start …
This is the home I grew up in, was raised in. We never moved, and I know this house on the darkest of nights. This is the home I learned to walk in, learned to laugh in, learned to read in. Most importantly, this is the home where I learned what love is.
But when I say “I’m going home” it’s not about the house. It’s about the love. It’s about these people:
These are the people who make me so happy I could cry — and do. These are the people who make me so angry I could scream — and do. These are the people who’ve seen me at my worst and who’ve seen me at my best. They’re the ones who make me laugh and help me cry. We’ve shared joys and sorrows, pride and pain. And we are always there for each other — even when we don’t agree. Because that’s what family is, that’s what home is.
But when I leave them, I also say “I’m going home.” To some, it’s “just an apartment.” But to me? It’s home.
It’s where I lay my head at night. It’s where I do my thinking, where I do my reading, where I do my living. It’s where I’ve spent the last eight years of my life, growing, changing, becoming the woman I am today. A lot of amazing things have happened in this home — things that were sad, things that were life-changing, things that brought me more joy than I’d ever experienced. I fell in love here. I had my heart broken here. I (literally) earned my master’s degree here. I became a marthoner here.
So, yeah, it’s “just” an apartment — but it’s more than that, too. It is warmth and comfort after a long day. It’s where I surround myself with the things I love — cozy blankets, warm candles, shelves full of books, pictures of my family. There is a lot of happy in this place. And, of course, it’s where the silly cats are.
And recently, I’ve found a new home. Somewhere safe. And warm. And open. And oh-so very happy. Somewhere I can always be myself and not be afraid of saying what I think and meaning what I say. Somewhere I’m loved for me — faults and all. So when I say “It’s good to be home” when I find myself in Mr. B’s arms, I mean it. Because that is a happy place — that is my home.
Yes, it’s true, Pumbaa, “Home is where your rump rests.” But more than that, home is where your spirit soars and hopes grow. It’s where your fears fade and your heart warms. Most importantly, home is where your happy is.
“Peace — that was the other name for home.” ~Kathleen Norris