Walking through the door of the bedroom I grew up in doesn't feel like it used to. On December 23rd, I entered it to find new floorboards, a new bed, different blankets. All of my personal belongings are tucked away [or more accurately, strewn and shoved and crammed] in a room thousands of miles away in Toronto. The paintings on the wall have changed, some missing, some that I never got around to hanging are now up. Where my guitar used to sit is now an old coffee table littered with real estate folders and data, my dad's computer and electronics that make up his new office. Where my dresser that housed soaps and socks is now a bookshelf of real-estate how-to's, old hardcovers of sermons and those Merry-Christmas-here's-a-sports-star-biography that are waiting to be re-gifted. No, this is not how it used to be, and I am not the same. Our "stuff" is a funny thing. It does not make us who we are by any stretch, but it stands as a memorial in a way to who we are and what we like and where we've been, how we were feeling on a certain day. Our home is not made by what we store in it and yet our "home" is usually where we keep our things and treasures. You can imagine my slight feeling of being misplaced if this were the definition of home. I am very much at Home in Toronto, and yet, sitting here in "my parents' house," in the basement of the house I grew up in, at the computer where I typed and bullshitted many an essay and assignment, with my mom's feet tiptoeing above me in the kitchen, with the smell of my favorite meal wafting down to meet me, with my dad walking in and out of the garage door, I am very much at Home.
I've found it sort of difficult to be in BC, to be honest. Lovely, and so necessaryand such a gift, but difficult. Hard to maneuver gracefully, and to see everyone I hold so closely to my heart [which I didn't] and say all that needed to be said [which it wasn't] and take the time I needed to take [which it wasn't]. Oh to have world and time enough. Even with the coffee dates, there's just no way I'll get back in the groove. I am not in the familiar with my world in BC anymore. That was difficult to realize.
And I find it increasingly difficult to be at Home in both places, to always be belonging where I am and always missing from where I want to be and where my heart is. Being in Toronto I miss dinners with my family and - oh- walking on the beach for hours. The ability to escape to nature in fifteen minutes- or thirty seconds. Roll down your window. Coffee dates in Vancouver and long weekends in Bellevue and Bellingham. The nearests and dearests. There is no fitting, no being fully present. I am always here and not there. And Home. What a terrifying, freeing thing that it doesn't lie in a destination for us, but that we are Home, and we are heading Home. We have Home in those we know and we will find new Home. We are expanding and leaving and returning, always.