When Remy and I are out for a walk, at some point I always say to him, “Let’s go home.” He knows exactly where that is and heads that way, usually without hesitation. But lately, when I say that, I think of our plans to bicycle cross country and where home will be for us then. And then I think of my children and their places of residence and whether they are “home” there, and I wonder where home is for them now, especially now that their dad is gone. Do I represent home? And if I move from the house where I’ve lived for 14 years, will I still represent home?
A young friend of mine recently lost the second of his parents. He relocated to another city where family resides, in hopes of reestablishing a sense of home. It hasn’t been long, but so far it’s not working. He is very young to have a sense of home within himself, so without both parents he was unable to take that sense of home with him. And unfamiliar expectations and setting are not helping him to establish that sense that he longs for. I know that, abstractly, we want to believe that we all belong here on planet Earth, and in each other’s hearts. But I think that’s too abstract to elicit the emotional comfort that we associate with the word “home.” Perhaps, as we continue to grow as a species, we will eventually be able to feel at home anywhere in the certainty that we are one and belong together everywhere. But for now, that’s a bit elusive. For Remy, home is with me. Even if we are riding across Montana at some point this spring, he will belong with me – and I with him – but if I were to say at that point, “Let’s go home,” he would be confused. And if I sell my house before I begin my travels, where will I return home to? Grand Rapids? Perhaps it will always be home, even if I buy a house in some other community and live there for 20 years. I was born in Grand Rapids and have lived in West Michigan most of my life. But Abby is in Ithaca, NY, and I am considering relocating there. I’m sure it will feel like home, once I have put some of myself into the community: working, volunteering, making music, performing weddings and memorials. So is that it, then? Home is a place where we leave an imprint of ourselves through our interactions and our deeds? And perhaps the more widespread our imprint, the more “at home” we feel throughout the globe. A much younger friend, in telling me of her 2015 adventures, mentioned feeling as though she had found a “heart home” when she visited Hawaii. I know that feeling. I feel that way about the Seattle area, Ann Arbor, and the northern Lower Peninsula of Michigan. Even though I have never resided in any of these places, when I go there I feel a swelling of belonging inside, and when I’m away an impetus to return, to feel that fullness again. I have always felt at home in West Michigan. I know the ways of the people, the expectations of the culture, and how I fit or don’t fit into those expectations. But lately I have felt as though something is pushing me to change, to move. I feel less at home here. The understanding from the past no longer connects me to this place. It no longer draws me toward a feeling of comfort. I need to let go of the external sense of home, and seek a more permanent home inside myself. And to do that, I must let go of the geographical home I have had for so long and step out into the unknown. For everyone’s sake, including mine, I will try to plan away much of the unknown; but this is more obvious when leaving the geographical comfort zone: every day, every minute is unknown, even though we prefer to think that it is not. We prefer to believe that we can anticipate certain occurrences and responses, etc. But we never know. On May 1, I will embark on an adventure. A friend recently told my daughter that, “Your mom is crazy!” and my daughter knew immediately that she was referring to this adventure. That may be the general consensus. It doesn’t matter. I am doing something that most 60-year-old women in our country and culture would never consider. That doesn’t matter, either. If I even begin to entertain the notion of not doing this, I feel more frightened than I do as I plan to undertake it. I will sell my house, my home, before I go – partly to have money to use for travel, and partly to completely sever my connection to my 14-year home. I will do this because, deep down, I know that the next adventures I need to experience will not unspool before me until I take this step. “Home is where the heart is,” and I’m taking mine with me.
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AuthorThinker, lover, curator of Sacred Space. Archives
June 2016
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