After 14 moves, 9 cities and towns, and 12 apartments, I have finally arrived in my home. Although I have dreamed about this arrival since I first left home as a teen, the moments are even sweeter that I could have ever imagined. The flawless way in which the sun rays shooting diagonally through my bedroom window in the morning is perfect each and every morning.
In the first few weeks the minute details of paint colors and furniture and light switches all traveled across my mind, settling with the correct answer one at a time. Then there was a deeper understanding and contentment that landed. I wanted to come home from work early and arrive late, because I wanted to be home. Taking vacation time became even more important, but not a vacation to a far off sandy beach, a vacation where I slept in and walked around the house for hours. The magenta bathroom became less about the magenta and more about that this is the bathroom that I have bought and am paying for.
Homeowning has made me think of all of the homes I have been invited into around the country and how each is the owner's statement of themselves. My earliest memory of a home, my mother and father's home, filled to the brim with familial artifacts, with very little space to move in. My sisters home in Los Angeles, modern, stark, perfectly manicured, my grandparents home built as an art deco piece where the cracks bring blistering frigid winter air in mixing with the scent of garlic. All of the homes of my friends and their families, the row homes of Philadephia, the small box shapes in suburbia Buffalo, the stucco and mountainside homes of Silverlake, the apartments of the Westside in New York, the old colonials in suburban DC.
In the deepest possible way, coming home has focused my dreams. With more and more clarity every day, I understand what I want, a home full of love and kindness, laughter and achievement. All these years I believed a home was important so that when I looked around I would see the success in possessions and achievements. This home has reminded me that those small elements are nothing compared to peace, comfort, familiarity, stability, love and connection. A home is not a home without the people, and the fury friends inside, the birds and the gusts of wind outside, and the blessing of sunlight.
Practicing yoga in a room dedicated to yoga and spinning is a reward, cutting down that weird shrub from the 50's outside is gratifying, walking the short distance to the bike path is a pleasure. All of these moments make up a day that I want to have and one that I have worked tirelessly for and would work another 100 years for. The only reason I ever went to work was to help others and pay my bills. Now I drive out of my driveway, down my street, out of my neighborhood toward work and I am going to work to help others, pay my bills and live in my home sweet home.
Feeling very blessed and very grateful this morning with the sun shining in my bedroom window.