Home
"I just wanna go home"
I've said that on and off at various points throughout my life.. when I was a young kid, of course, I often meant it literally. Whenever things around me were too stressful or scary, I wanted to go home. Home was always safe. Home was always calm, and comforting. I guess I was kinda lucky in that regard, as I know there are lots of kids out there who can't say that..
But anyway, later in life, the world got more complicated, and home wasn't the same sort of absolute refuge that it managed to be earlier in life. I got more resilient, and for the most part, I made my way through day by day the same as everyone else, sometimes happy, sometimes sad, but getting by OK regardless. But still, every once in a while, when the world around me got to be too much, and I just couldn't take it anymore, sometimes there was still only one thing to be done. "I wanna go home." And even when I knew all my problems were still there outside the door waiting for me, or sometimes even followed me in, being home always made things better somehow.
Then I got older, and set out on my own to college. Being halfway across the country, going home wasn't really an option most of the time. One could visit, with elaborate planning and plane reservations, for the summer perhaps, but there was no just up and deciding to go home anymore. But by that time I was really pretty self-sufficient, and so I got by pretty well anyway. Every so often, though, I'd still think it, an automatic reaction, when things got stressful. "I wanna go home." I couldn't go home, but that didn't stop me wanting it sometimes.
Then after college, I did a variety of things, and ultimately ended up really on my own, with my own place, living my own life, a real grown-up. At that point, home became something different. Up until that point, when I'd said "I wanna go home", I always meant one specific place. My old home, my parents' house, was still there, of course, but after a while it wasn't really my home anymore. I had my own apartment, which was where I lived now, and came home to every day. That was home. Sort of.
Because I would still say it sometimes, under my breath, when the world got bad. "I wanna go home." But I didn't mean my apartment, really. Yet I didn't mean my parents' house anymore either. Where was home? Where did I want to go? To be honest, I wanted to go to someplace that didn't exist anymore. I wanted to go back to that old "home" of my childhood. The safe and comforting one, where nobody expected anything of me and there was somebody there to protect me from anything the world could conjure up. I knew that place didn't exist anymore, but at least I could remember it, and wish to go there sometimes. And sometimes, even knowing it wasn't there, maybe wasn't ever really there, sometimes remembering it, and having someplace to want to go anyway, still made things better somehow.
It had been a while, but a few days ago, I found myself saying it once again. Under my breath, to nobody in particular, at the end of a really long day, "I just wanna go home."
And then, as I said it, I realized something, something different than before... I no longer remember where home is. That home, I mean, the one I was just talking about. I know all about it. As I just explained, I remember wanting to go home at many times in my life, and I know where I wanted to go at each point in my life when I said that, and I know exactly why I wanted to go there. I still want to go there.
But I don't remember it. I remember details of the places I used to live, the places I used to consider home. I even remember what it was like to want to go to that other, more ephemeral "home" made of memories and wishes, but now, when it comes down to the thing itself, that "home" I would conjure up in my mind, the feelings that I found there, of safety and comfort, in that half-remembered, half-imagined safe haven I'd wish for when I needed to hold onto something reassuring, I can't find in my mind anymore. It's just gone. There's an intellectual idea of what it should be, and memories of having someplace like that once, but in the place where I should be able to find it, where I should be able to go, if only in my mind, to be there again is just.. an empty space.
They say you can never go home again. I never really believed it, though. Sure, home changes over time. The place and people you once called home aren't the same as they used to be. Maybe that place isn't even home anymore, but there's always a home somewhere. Even if there's no real "home" anywhere left on this earth, there's still something somewhere, even if it's just a memory, or even a fantasy. I never thought I'd be left with nothing, not even in my own mind, to call home. At the very least I thought if I somehow lost it, that there would be some warning.. some event to mark it by. To just wake up one day and realize that you've lost something truly precious some time ago, at some point you don't even remember, well, it's just not fair, really.
And of course that's the irony: Losing something like this, in this way, well, it's hard, and it's not fair, and it's just one more piece of life ganging up to be just too much to handle, exactly the sort of thing that just makes me... want to go home. But now I'm not allowed even to want that. It doesn't mean anything anymore. Without having some idea of where "home" is, I can still say it, but now they're just empty words, motions without meanings. I can't really want something if I don't even know what it is.
But it's still habit, so I know I'll still say it, every once in a while, when things are hard. What once was a ritual of some comfort, now in its place an empty shell to remind me what I've lost, to remind me that now unlike ever before, it really is just me, alone, in a big scary world...
"I just want to go home."
Sigh.
I've said that on and off at various points throughout my life.. when I was a young kid, of course, I often meant it literally. Whenever things around me were too stressful or scary, I wanted to go home. Home was always safe. Home was always calm, and comforting. I guess I was kinda lucky in that regard, as I know there are lots of kids out there who can't say that..
But anyway, later in life, the world got more complicated, and home wasn't the same sort of absolute refuge that it managed to be earlier in life. I got more resilient, and for the most part, I made my way through day by day the same as everyone else, sometimes happy, sometimes sad, but getting by OK regardless. But still, every once in a while, when the world around me got to be too much, and I just couldn't take it anymore, sometimes there was still only one thing to be done. "I wanna go home." And even when I knew all my problems were still there outside the door waiting for me, or sometimes even followed me in, being home always made things better somehow.
Then I got older, and set out on my own to college. Being halfway across the country, going home wasn't really an option most of the time. One could visit, with elaborate planning and plane reservations, for the summer perhaps, but there was no just up and deciding to go home anymore. But by that time I was really pretty self-sufficient, and so I got by pretty well anyway. Every so often, though, I'd still think it, an automatic reaction, when things got stressful. "I wanna go home." I couldn't go home, but that didn't stop me wanting it sometimes.
Then after college, I did a variety of things, and ultimately ended up really on my own, with my own place, living my own life, a real grown-up. At that point, home became something different. Up until that point, when I'd said "I wanna go home", I always meant one specific place. My old home, my parents' house, was still there, of course, but after a while it wasn't really my home anymore. I had my own apartment, which was where I lived now, and came home to every day. That was home. Sort of.
Because I would still say it sometimes, under my breath, when the world got bad. "I wanna go home." But I didn't mean my apartment, really. Yet I didn't mean my parents' house anymore either. Where was home? Where did I want to go? To be honest, I wanted to go to someplace that didn't exist anymore. I wanted to go back to that old "home" of my childhood. The safe and comforting one, where nobody expected anything of me and there was somebody there to protect me from anything the world could conjure up. I knew that place didn't exist anymore, but at least I could remember it, and wish to go there sometimes. And sometimes, even knowing it wasn't there, maybe wasn't ever really there, sometimes remembering it, and having someplace to want to go anyway, still made things better somehow.
It had been a while, but a few days ago, I found myself saying it once again. Under my breath, to nobody in particular, at the end of a really long day, "I just wanna go home."
And then, as I said it, I realized something, something different than before... I no longer remember where home is. That home, I mean, the one I was just talking about. I know all about it. As I just explained, I remember wanting to go home at many times in my life, and I know where I wanted to go at each point in my life when I said that, and I know exactly why I wanted to go there. I still want to go there.
But I don't remember it. I remember details of the places I used to live, the places I used to consider home. I even remember what it was like to want to go to that other, more ephemeral "home" made of memories and wishes, but now, when it comes down to the thing itself, that "home" I would conjure up in my mind, the feelings that I found there, of safety and comfort, in that half-remembered, half-imagined safe haven I'd wish for when I needed to hold onto something reassuring, I can't find in my mind anymore. It's just gone. There's an intellectual idea of what it should be, and memories of having someplace like that once, but in the place where I should be able to find it, where I should be able to go, if only in my mind, to be there again is just.. an empty space.
They say you can never go home again. I never really believed it, though. Sure, home changes over time. The place and people you once called home aren't the same as they used to be. Maybe that place isn't even home anymore, but there's always a home somewhere. Even if there's no real "home" anywhere left on this earth, there's still something somewhere, even if it's just a memory, or even a fantasy. I never thought I'd be left with nothing, not even in my own mind, to call home. At the very least I thought if I somehow lost it, that there would be some warning.. some event to mark it by. To just wake up one day and realize that you've lost something truly precious some time ago, at some point you don't even remember, well, it's just not fair, really.
And of course that's the irony: Losing something like this, in this way, well, it's hard, and it's not fair, and it's just one more piece of life ganging up to be just too much to handle, exactly the sort of thing that just makes me... want to go home. But now I'm not allowed even to want that. It doesn't mean anything anymore. Without having some idea of where "home" is, I can still say it, but now they're just empty words, motions without meanings. I can't really want something if I don't even know what it is.
But it's still habit, so I know I'll still say it, every once in a while, when things are hard. What once was a ritual of some comfort, now in its place an empty shell to remind me what I've lost, to remind me that now unlike ever before, it really is just me, alone, in a big scary world...
"I just want to go home."
Sigh.