No matter where we start we never end in the same place. Life takes us to many new places. We go to beautiful places when we travel the world. We’re put in tough places when things get hard. We’re put in special places when reach our goals. And we end up in dark places when we fall into depressive low times. That’s the plight of life.
But somehow, we’re always a little further than we started. Many people go back to where they started but others go to a more special place. The place we call home. It’s not always the first place we lived in. Home can be anywhere. We often keep home close to our hearts. When we get lost home is the one place we can rely on. So when you think of ‘home,’ what, specifically, do you think of?
Here’s what I think of when I think ‘home,’ and my thoughts on it.
Home is somewhere we feel comfortable and at ease. That’s the way I think of somewhere being a home. It doesn’t have to be the house you own. Think about the times you called your parents house “home” as a teenager. It wasn’t your physical place. It also doesn’t have to be an actual physical building. Think of all the homeless people that don’t have a house. They may still have a spot or area they feel is their “home.”
That means home can be any amount of places or things that bring that comfort. The thing with me is I don’t get comfortable easy. I don’t have trust issues but it takes a long time for me to acclimate to a new place. When I travel it takes days if not weeks for me to get even slightly comfortable. And if I don’t then that means sleepless nights, and never wanting to be in the room. I end up having to book luxury hotels that are tailored more to my personal style. It’s an expensive habit.
So home doesn’t come easily to me. And I love the house I’m currently at. I know how to get the water just hot enough. I know where to find my phone charging at night. I don’t stub my toes navigating to the restroom in pitch black darkness. It’s what I’m familiar with. It’s where I feel comfortable. It’s where I feel at ease. But it’s not my home.
When I think deeper than this current house, I realize that I’ve felt that comfort and ease at the house before this. That means it isn’t the house. Home to me is the core group of people that I find comfort with. There is a handful of people that have always been there for me. They know who they are. Dwayne. Mama. Cheryl. DeAsia. The core support group I have is priceless.
They have been there in the best of times. They have been there in the lowest of times. I’ve spent weeks to months in excruciating pain. Imagine non-stop stabbing pain in your arms, backs, and legs. It sucks. It’s also one of the highest levels of discomfort. But somehow, these people have brought me that comfort in those difficult times. I could be at a hotel, a friends house, or a hospital across the country. They find their way to me. And they always find a way to put me at ease.
The support, love, and care they share is what I call home. I don’t worry about the places I stay. I worry about the people around me. With the right people, I can weather any storm in any house. Home is not always where you live. Home is where you go when a storm hits. I still love the house I’m in now. But this house is replaceable. The people I cherish are not. They are my forever home.