There’s no place like home…

The concept of home is one that I still don’t have a solid grasp on.

Growing up, my house did not feel like a home.  I was always just as content at my aunt’s house or at school or at a friend’s place as I was in my own bedroom.  Sure, I felt a sense of belonging – but not in the sense that I belonged there.  More in the sense that my room belonged to me.  It contained my belongings.  I was never one of those kids who had trouble at her first sleepovers.  Or even the first day of school.

In high school, I wanted nothing more than to be AWAY from this house that they tried to call my home.  Whenever I was there I was fighting with someone.  There was always homework to be finished, laundry to be done, chores to be completed. It wasn’t someplace I would rush back to after school.  in fact, most days I would find any excuse possible to stay away longer.  On days that drama was cancelled, I stayed out until drama normally would have been over.  If I couldn’t find anyone to hang out with, I would just drive.  My car felt more like a home than my house did.

Then I moved to New York and something weird happened.  When I was in Boston, I would say “Oh, I’m going home on Sunday”, meaning New York. Just naturally, it would come out.  Of course, this made my parents twitch, but even they do it now sometimes.  However, I still say “I’m going home for Thanksgiving”.  I’ve realized that now, when I say home, I don’t mean a house or an apartment. I mean a feeling.  When I’m in New York, I feel independent, brave, excited.  I feel at home.  When I’m in Boston, I feel loved, cared for, relaxed.  I feel at home.

So though I went through a phase in my life where no place felt like home, I am now lucky enough to be able to call TWO places home.

~ by Valerie Anne on 11/24/2010.

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