What makes a place ‘home’? Is it where your stuff is? Where you sleep at night? Where you were raised?
I often asked my doula students, during their introductions, to tell me where ‘home’ is – and leave it up to them to define that for themselves.
As a person without a house by choice, I struggle with the many times I’ve used the term ‘home’ since I’ve been living on the road. “When I go home…”, “Oh, it’s at home…”, “I’ll be home next month…”. Sometimes I’m referring to a place where my stuff is kept. Sometimes I’m referring to the place where I sleep at night. Sometimes I’m referring the place where I am from, where my family still lives.
My first weeks after leaving the house I used to live at on Beacon Hill, my phone kept telling me how far I was from ‘home’. iPhone, you have no idea!
It really bothered me that that house was no longer my home. I loved that house, the urban farm I had created, the memories that were created there. It was my reference point, just like my iPhone was telling me. But it’s not any more. I still grapple with my definition of home, and trying to explain it to others. Thanks for rubbing it in, iPhone, thank you very much.