This couldn’t be more accurate. I’ve had a lot of homes. More than I’d like to admit. Not in a bad, no family situation kind of way. I’ve just moved a lot. I never feel at “home.” I never get that cozy, warm, home feeling that we all know about.
Until I leave.
First, I’ll start by saying that yes, my parents house feels most like home. I think for a lot of people, young adults especially, this is probably true. This isn’t about home “home,” this is about making life your home. I’ve moved to a different apartment in the same city, I’ve moved to different cities, accepted different jobs, met different people. But it always seems like every day is like the last, everywhere I go.
I don’t know if I’m expecting some kind of grand entrance to the next level of life or what but the days so easily and so quickly become monotonous.
Home. What is home? I have a Pinterest board that feels like home to me. The décor, the space, the ideas, the wonder. The laughs around a dining room table playing games, the comfortable bed snuggled up next to my kitten. The warm fireplace, hot cocoa, and Christmas cartoons on repeat. I imagine home much more than I feel home.
I have this grand gesture of an idea in my head. I’ve been planning my “home” for as long as I can remember. I’m going to buy a beautiful house, paint, and decorate. Fill it to the brim with my home-y style. Invite those people over to play those games. Light that fire and drink that cocoa. Snuggle and smile and enjoy my home.
But that kind of home, that dream home seems so far away. There are so many variables of life that make home feel impossible for a 20-something. Credit scores, income, education. Needs verses wants is probably the biggest mountain to climb. I don’t need a lot but I don’t want garbage. I have high hopes and medium expectations when it comes to home.
With that being said, my current “life” feels so far from home it’s not even funny. I know apartments never feel like home; at least I don’t think they do. But I miss my old home. I miss certain parts of living in that shitty ass trailer in Thief River. I miss the upstairs apartment that we lived in TWICE. I kind of even miss my downtown, hole in the ground apartment in Grand Forks. I miss West Ridge which was, hands down, the best place we’ve ever lived.
Now that we no longer live in those places, they seem like home more than ever before. I fanaticize about what my life would be like now, if I would have given it just a little more time instead of always jumping and running away when things weren’t just the way I wanted them.
I want to get past this hump of “Why’s.” We keep questioning if we’ve made the right decisions. Was it right to move to leave Thief River nearly 4 years ago? Was it right to leave excellent paying jobs and people in Grand Forks? Did we give Bemidji enough time? Why are we in Fargo? What are we doing?
Home never feels like home until you leave. It’s true. Everywhere I’ve lived, I couldn’t wait to “get out” thinking that my next move was going to be my last move until the big buy (a house) but then I move again. What am I running from? What am I chasing? Each of those places we’ve left always seem to call me back asking the question “Why?” I miss my home and wherever I am now, doesn’t feel like it’ll ever be home. It never does.