Defeating the porpoise
[Ed. note: He went kind of nuts with the italics tonight. Blame the changing seasons.]As I was writing last night, the conservative, logical side of my brain flickered to life for a bit, though I managed to stifle it long enough to finish writing. What briefly flashed through my brain was the question of how to get home? I thought maybe I'd just show up in either LA, Chicago, or Boston where I suppose I could just turn around and go back the way I came. I've got frequent flyer miles. I could get on a plane to save time.
But then that side of the brain shut down again. I was left with questions like-
What's my hurry to go home?
What does home even mean?
What's the purpose if I've already worked out the way backwards?
It occurs to me that I don't even like the sound of the word home. Does that make me a home-o-phobe? (HA! I easily amuse myself.) Seriously, I don't like that long-O sound. I could substitute my place for the h-word, but I think you see to what kind of trouble that could lead. (From HA! to Aha!) Does owning a townhome, with responsibility for a mortgage, insurance, utilities, a car (and so on) mean that I have a place. Clearly, none of that stuff makes it any less certain that I don't. Would a job? What about a wife/girlfriend? Kid(s)? No, not necessarily, no idea. I can think of a dozen places I'd rather be, but simply being there doesn't make it my place.
So I ask you, dear reader, what's your place and how did you get there?
[Interesting related article at reference.com.]
posted by tinyhands @ 11:59 PM
9 Comments:
I don't own my own house (yet, I'm shopping) so I guess I would say that my place is my mom's house...it's where I grew up, where I learned about love, life, disappointment, success, death, laughter...it's where I go to feel safe. Or my grandparents house, again, they've lived there my entire life and just walking in the backdoor makes me feel peaceful. One day, when I have a place of my own and a family to fill it, I hope they'll feel the same way.
Wow, I sound like a big ol' cornball, don't I?
This house must be home because I don't notice its flaws any more.
My home is a farm in the Catskills. I don't think I've made one here in TX yet, although I may have discovered it in Wimberly.
As a student, I'm in the midst of a huge transitional phase. At this point, I don't feel like I really have a "place", geographical or otherwise. Keep working on it. Maybe in a few years, we'll both be able to say we've found our place.
That said, I realize that time is less of a concern for me than it is for you. Patience, my friend. It's a virtue that no one has but everyone needs.
My place is the entire city of Minneapolis. Since I moved around a lot as a kid, I never really had a solid "home" or neighborhood or any of that jazz. When I moved out of my mom's house, I consciously decided to move into Minneapolis for school and work reasons. After living there for 2 years, I realized that when I think of home, I think of Mpls. When I see the skyline, I feel that happiness that people associated with home and familiarity. My place came from finally having control over where I was and then, falling in love with the city I had chosen.
Home is where my cats are.
i can tell you this: home is for damn sure not in palm freaking springs. it took me 35 minutes to drive 1 mile and i'm the youngest one on my block by a good 45 years. jesus. it's hell. (ha!)
Home is where my children are. When they are gone it feels like a big empty space, when they return it feels like home.
i dig the new quote jack.
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