where the heart is
Family.
Home?
Does home mean family?
Sometimes?
Maybe?
What about a family divided five ways?
Does family mean comfort?
No.
Sometimes.
Maybe?
Does home mean comfort?
I would like to think so.
I hope so.
In Winnipeg a friend tells me that she feels she has two homes. Two homes in two cities and both of them feel completely separate and as if they could exist each without the other. These two lives are each their own entities. What’s that story about the woman who had two separate lives and two separate families - Keeping them secret from the other she lives divided this way for years and years. What about children who grow up living in two homes because their parents are separated? Or people who spend the summer in warm places and the winter working?
I have always be consumed with this need to find THE place that was home… define what was home… be home… create home… so that I could feel comfortable. At this point in my life I am realizing that this is not possible. With my parents separating, my sisters moving to their own places and me living with the possibility of moving once again, home has never felt so scattered and piecemeal. I suppose I am understanding that home is not the utopian oasis that I had imagined but it’s a transitory shifting state. Home is changing and moving and adapting and growing. Now that I have accepted this it’s not such a bad idea. It only makes me feel lost every once in a while. But alas “home is where the heart is” and my heart is in many places all at once.
Home?
Does home mean family?
Sometimes?
Maybe?
What about a family divided five ways?
Does family mean comfort?
No.
Sometimes.
Maybe?
Does home mean comfort?
I would like to think so.
I hope so.
In Winnipeg a friend tells me that she feels she has two homes. Two homes in two cities and both of them feel completely separate and as if they could exist each without the other. These two lives are each their own entities. What’s that story about the woman who had two separate lives and two separate families - Keeping them secret from the other she lives divided this way for years and years. What about children who grow up living in two homes because their parents are separated? Or people who spend the summer in warm places and the winter working?
I have always be consumed with this need to find THE place that was home… define what was home… be home… create home… so that I could feel comfortable. At this point in my life I am realizing that this is not possible. With my parents separating, my sisters moving to their own places and me living with the possibility of moving once again, home has never felt so scattered and piecemeal. I suppose I am understanding that home is not the utopian oasis that I had imagined but it’s a transitory shifting state. Home is changing and moving and adapting and growing. Now that I have accepted this it’s not such a bad idea. It only makes me feel lost every once in a while. But alas “home is where the heart is” and my heart is in many places all at once.