Home. A concept I have never been able to understand. A concept that no matter how hard I try to wrap my head around I can never ground a meaning behind it. What people define as their home is interesting in itself. Many times people describe their home as that physical existence of a place where they reside and live. Home is also the people who you allow into that space and your life. Home in many aspects is quite simply the manifestation of this idea that allows you to live life knowing that you are protected from the uproars and storms that life wields in your direction.
I can’t describe the feeling of a physical space “home” because I do not have one. Throughout life I have uprooted myself and wandered searching for a space like this and to my dismay I never got far enough to ever establish a permanent one. A permanent one where I felt truly safe, secure, and stable. Yes, I do have a space that I can call my own where all my belongings and stuff are held, but it does not feel like home. It’s just a space that contains all the memories good and bad I’ve experienced in life. To be in it for too long, especially when in a head space that I am in currently, is too overwhelming and traumatic to want to stay. This space that people would like to define as my home holds nothing but an unwavering uncertainty. This space sits on a horribly rocky foundation that might not be able to handle another storm. This space is on the verge of collapse and I refuse to go down with it.
Call me weak for running away from it. Call me a coward for ignoring the problem. I am neither of those things. Today I visited this space for the first time in a couple days and after an extremely emotionally charged visit within it I realized what I must do to rebuild it. I do not feel guilty for taking time for myself right now. This is a period of great change and if I ever want to move forward in rebuilding my life I need to process all that is running through my mind. I deserve to build a “home” fashioned just for me. However, it cannot be done in that damaged space. I have no choice at the moment but to take my home and create it where I am granted the opportunity to and begin to plan the extreme home makeover. Over the next couple weeks I plan to stay away from that broken space only to return with all the tools in hand to create a home in the physical sense.
I see this as a chance to start over. A chance to make peace with all the trauma in my so called home space and start anew. Mentally I feel reborn as a person since giving up drinking and as proud as I am for the progress and change I’ve made in myself I need to start paying attention to my surroundings and creating safe places and homes for myself.
I have always found a home in the people who have entered my life. Each person I come in contact with, no matter how significant the relationship or interaction, I find a way to give a piece of myself away to them. Not feeling like I had a space to call my own, I did what I could to find a home within them. As time has past I acknowledge that I truly did create a home within all of these people. Those of you who disappeared like dust in the wind, I thank you for your temporary shelter and will never forget your generosity of allowing me to come into your lives and escape my burdens. Those of you who have welcomed me back after this intoxicated escapade of self-discovery, know that I may leave again, but I will return and alcohol won’t be coming with me. I will return because no matter how much a person wants to run away and seek something better, they always come back to the places and people who they built a home in. Cliché but true, you never forget the place you come from. Eventually, nostalgia breeds a longing to return to the place where you took your first steps, made your first friends, spent your days as an angsty teenager, and experienced a multitude of other firsts. A sense of home is a basic human need for survival. To reject and refuse a home will only damn you to a lonely death.
My home is not to be limited to a single space or entity. My home is to be found throughout my experiences and the people who were there with me. I one day want to be able to say that home is wherever I hang my hat. This gypsy heart that beats strongly within me wants a robust, meaningful, and experience loaded life.
I am capable of creating a home for myself and time will tell when its construction is complete. To create my home I must exercise my freedom to its greatest potential and act on it accordingly. The greatest home I could ever build is the one within myself and to do that I must accept that no physical space, physical place, lover, friend, or person will serve as the blueprint of my home. I alone define my home.
With One Floorboard At A Time: