'Home'

I want to be asleep right now, 1am here in Seattle. I tried and ended up staring at the walls, first left, then right, then left again. Warm under the covers, yet restless. So here I am, thinking of different people and random memories....which got me thinking about the notion of 'home.' I must be feeling how I imagine others sometimes feel after they get married or go through some other big change in their life. You make a decision and before you know it, the day has arrived. You are ready for it on the outside..internally is a different story. It can take your mind longer to catch up with your current reality. Like a woman whose name changes from hers to her husband's overnight, only time will provide that new identity that coincides with the life change.

I stare at my current address and have no emotional attachment to the words, not a sense of 'home.' There's a 'house' you live in and then there's the constant comfort of 'home.' A house is simply a physical manifestation of the place you reside at any given point in time; a home is a comfort, a love, an intimacy we create for ourselves over time. A house is finite, a home is always there even if it changes form.

Right now I'm in a house in Washington, but emotionally I think I'm still in my "home" of Chicago, a six year bond of meaningful comforts. I can close my eyes and see the hard wood floor of my tiny Lakeview studio apartment. I can see the goofy bunny magnets on the fridge that Rajiv and Eddie gave me after I was laughing so hard over the ones on their refrigerator. I can see my world map hanging disheveled and sideways on the otherwise bare white concrete wall across from my bed. I can see the Crooker family tree framed on a wall that my grandfather created years ago that fascinates me to stare at in wonder from time to time. I can see all three of my bookcases, overflowing with books read and ones yet to be opened. I can open my closet that is filled with clothes and crammed with things that instill nostalgia in and of themselves. I can see my crappy excuse for a coffee table that is a remnant of my college years, a hand me down from former roomates that had lived in my apartment before me in San Marcos. It's definitely not a beauty, but it adds to my sense of 'home' and looks better with my cd player and music displayed on it.

My home has framed photographs on the walls, on my bookcases, and on the long ledge by my two uninviting windows. It is Rajiv and Eddie's comforting hugs. It is my laughter and my tears. It's the smell of green bean casserole or pizza in the oven. It's the anticipation and excitement of people I love visiting me from long distances. It's conversations I have had, sitting on my bed while talking on the phone with family and friends. It is also in the memory of those who have spent quality time at my 'house' and slept beside me in my bed. It is my white alarm clock that greets me every day with the time or a song. It is in my joy, my sorrow, my hope for more experiences, more memories.

My home wasn't just New Hampshire, Virginia, Florida or Texas. Nor was it the brief stint in Kentucky or Nevada. Or my 6 year journey in Chicago and jump to Seattle. I know some people may not understand why I've moved the location of my 'house' so much. Honestly, I don't completely understand it myself.

Maybe my home finds me, which isn't hard to do. It's everywhere, outside and in.