Home Again

Dean and I have lived in four houses together.  Three cities. Two states. All in the span of 6 years. We have accumulated one dog, one cat, and one child. The cat is enjoying an extended stay at my mom's house. He put up his paws the last time we mentioned moving.

I've been thinking a lot about how my sense of place changes my perspective on life. I haven't truly felt settled since I left my childhood home. That was twelve years ago. When I move, I never fully unpack because at this point, I know how hard moving is. How much time it takes to pack up all the boxes. To organize, pile, stack, box, tape, label and ultimately shove all your crap into cars and trucks. Drive all this stuff to a new home; a broom resting on your shoulder and your junk drawer spilled into a flimsy cardboard box on your lap.

It's enough to make me vow I will never ever move again each time we do. I also to promise to get rid of all my belongings.

I haven't stuck to either of these vows.

I'm working on it.

Each time we move, we eventually settle in enough to make it feel like home. Though we are always living with one foot out the door.

I wonder what the feeling is like to have a home that is yours.  I pine for that. You paint walls without permission, put shelves up without hesitation.  I dream of so many shelves. I wonder how much of this longing is that thing of wanting what you don't have. When I am rested and feeling hopeful, I think perhaps our uprooted lifestyle allows us to live spontaneously, be open to change, ready for anything. Though when I am tired and drained, feeling empty and exhausted, I can't help but long to dig my heels in. To live with both feet in the door.

On the other hand, I suppose as long I have access to an oven to make these graham crackers, I'll be okay.