On one of the last pages:
He sat down on a grassy bank and looked at the city that surrounded him, and thought, one day he would have to go home. And one day he would have to make a home to go back to. He wondered whether home was a thing that happened to a place after a while, or if it was something that you found in the end, if you simply walked and waited and willed it long enough.This resonates so much for me as I have given a lot of thought about what "home" means, how one feels at home; whether home is something you carry with you; how people can feel like home. Certainly the last 15 or so months has been a continuation of that search in a very lived way, of that hope of figuring out what I want home to feel like, look like but I am much in the same spot I was in when I wrote the post above. It's true that overall my old neighborhood of Historic South Park was fabulous, the overall vibe of that part of the country, my sense of disconnect there was something I was happy to leave - though there are people from that region that miss almost daily regardless of the connections and reconnections I have forged since leaving in March 2009. It is the people that I bonded to that make that place home but I feel safe in saying I will not live in Southern Ohio ever again.
For better or worse, as I said to my therapist, I am imminently flexible about many things, where I live being one of them. There are some wonderful positive things about being imbued with this quality; however the challenges are many both to myself and to the people who love me. I know this. It is possible that what I need is to become a bit less flexible, which for me means continuing to learn how to put myself higher up in the food chain of priorities, state my desires, intent, and dreams more clearly. This may mean shaking some people loose in terms of their standing in my considerations, not something I am comfortable with or practiced in. Even if that doesn't happen the prospect of finding a way to express and live my inner core is scary; uncharted territory that needs to be acknowledged, tended to for things to grow, for me to grow.
In the meantime, this sweet, funky cabin is my physical home, one I make more so every day. Especially the last two days as my kitchen things are here (still in boxes and some will not stay here - did I mention I have a LOT of kitchen things?). My spices are on a tiny shelf, disordered (usually they exist in alphabetical order) but just knowing they are here, adding their perfume even on the most minute level, makes it more like home for me. Today I cleaned off the camping stove/grill so that I can begin to actually cook somewhere besides the microwave, washed one set of windows. All steps to letting myself settle in here. Really, this place is sweet - y'all should come visit me.
A bit ago I sat outside with my coffee and toast, finishing the above novel, while a lovely summer storm ebbed and flowed. I reveled in the smells of summer rain, drinking from my lovely coffee bowl (Thanks Sarah! I <3 you so much!), listening to the wind and rain, I felt a moment of peace that was so sweet it was almost like an altered state. I felt released from the anxiety and grief that has marred my days of late, I felt a burgeoning of hope for myself that is still ethereal that it feels much removed from reality, but I will try to remember that I make that reality. I have a choice in how I see myself, my options; I have a choice in how I respond to feelings, thoughts, people, and the events sets in my path. We all have that ability, sometimes it's easy to forget that.