“Home is not a place but a sense of self.” This comment was in my email this morning from Lisa Kramer, a fellow blogger, you should check her out.
I’m trying to think back over the course of the life of this blog, and remember if I ever wrote to you all about my gypsy nature. I can’t remember. I come by it honestly. My parents both moved a lot. First while they were married my father was in the Air Force we moved often, then when my parents split we continued to move for reasons I didn’t know.
Finally, when I was 12, I asked to move in with my grandparents.
This was the beginning of the place I called home. A little three bedroom rock house with enough of a backyard to grow a garden and build a garage. The place I was happiest. The place I grew up. The place I had my first kiss. The place I met my oldest friends.
I planted my roots firmly in the rough pink granite sands of the Hill Country, and grew like a wild wisteria dancing in a summer breeze.
Like the wisteria that wound a path around the great oak in our front yard I have traveled just enough to know where I am planted. To know where my roots will lead.
Over the course of 31 years I have lived in five states and one foreign country (at least that I am aware.) My mother tells me that as children we lived in most of the states East of the mighty Mississippi. However since I can’t remember that I will go with five. To determine the number of residences with in these five states would take an act of God. Honestly.
I know I went to 13 different schools before the end of sixth grade.
I managed to stay in Burnet throughout junior high and high school.
On my own, I have lived in 22 different places in 13 years…that’s just since I reached age 18.
So, the bedroom I shared with my little sister for 7 years really is the one house I lived in the longest.
I have always sort of lived by the philosophy that “Home is where your rump rests.” You can thank Disney for that one, Pumba says it to Simba in The Lion King.
Even with all that moving I haven’t changed jobs often. I had to have some sense of stability. It is in staying at jobs for several years that I have learned how soothing life can be when nothing changes.
“Home is not a place, but a sense of self.”
I think it is this logic that has kept me from feeling like an outsider. I am very much at home with who I am and I am a creature of habit. Different habits from most, but my habits. My quirks. I think it’s something I picked up as a kid during all the times we had to move on purpose.
Create the sanctuary within because the exterior is a mess.
I was always an internal child. I was a thinker. I could play well with just my sisters. I loved to read. I wasn’t very good at reading until about 5th grade, but then my book hungry brain kicked in. I believe I read every Sweet Valley book ever written. I read all the Anne of Green Gables books.
I learned to love movies. Movies are a great escape for me. All the emotion of the novels I read squeezed into a two hour story. I loved the original AMC. When there really were CLASSIC movies on TV. It was a great vacation to watch Gidget mess something up with Moondoggy or to watch Beach Blanket Bingo. Sabrina, the original one with Audrey Hepburn, was an amazing film. Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers could be seen in my living room regularly. Swing Time is still one of my all time favorite movies.
Anyway, I filled my head with ideals popular in the late fifties, early sixties. That was a time when people were still concentrating on becoming the best THEY could be. Empathy, existentialism, realism, and abstract thinking. The ME generation had yet to be invented, even though it was a product of that time. I learned the philosophical aspects and started writing. I started singing. I started thinking. I learned a lot about myself. I learned a lot about who I wanted to be on the inside.
Witnessing the chaos of life makes the young do this. It isn’t normal, but when you’re torn from those you care about so often you become a world within.
Lisa is still right, but this is not something I want for my kids. I see my oldest doing this very thing.
I see him escaping into his toys, his books, his favorite movies because they are what is familiar to him. I see him becoming like me. It’s not a bad thing, but it’s not the childhood I had envisioned for him.
When I found out I was pregnant with him I told my husband that I wanted Elijah raised in my hometown. It’s sort of like raising him in a bubble, but it is a good bubble. I want him to play in the lake, dig in a garden, play football, play baseball, run a little wild. I know it is different from when I went to school, but it is better than where we were or where we are now.
I had given my husband 5 years to make that happen. He didn’t. It didn’t. We ended up in NY. We have moved back. I got distracted by my own mess and forgot the goal. I am almost ill with my discontent. Quite simply because I forgot what I have wanted for so long. I forgot for a few days what I had wanted from the day I found out about Elijah’s existence.
I am working toward the ultimate goal once again. Having taken a long time to consider every facet of the decision. I have asked friends. I have asked family. I have considered all the good and the bad. There is some negatives to these choices…but they are far outweighed by the good.
Home is a sense of self, but stability creates a sense of home, A sense of who you are and who you will become.
Stability give you your roots, so that when you are ready you can have wings.