I have dozens of posts started, many delving into sociological, physiological, existential, religious, interpersonal, or other questions, analyses, and musings. I have audio entry after audio entry I've been meaning to transcribe or post. I've been typing out old journal entries and musing on some of my observations and surprises from ten years ago. I have experiences to share, a story to put together. But most of it seems unimportant tonight because tonight...I just have a feeling, and it's one that threads back to simpler times of childhood.
It's a chilly, damp night here, and I can hear the rain pattering outside. Classic autumn weather for this region. I was going to meet some friends, but after a night "in" with my nieces, I was dragging my feet. I fell asleep on the floor next to my cat...well, now my brother's family's cat since about 4 years ago. He'd rather stalk you than cuddle you most of the time, so I just laid down a foot or so away from him where he could be aloof and disinterested. I woke up after a nap and decided I wasn't going anywhere. The kids were getting ready for bed, so I made a hot cup of hibiscus pomegranate herbal tea, went downstairs to my "lair" (basement of my brother's house), changed into red plaid flannel PJ bottoms and a comfy brown sweater, and wondered what book I might read. No career planning, no budgeting, no IMing, no photo editing, blogging (oops), or stressing about what else I might be doing or whether my friends are having fun I'm missing out on. Just nestling in and getting all snuggied up for the night.
What struck me, as I got all comfy, was that I am yearning for "home". When I was a child, my family's house was home. It was what I knew, what I grew up with. It was familiar, comfortable, secure...it was me. I was it. Everything was attached to a memory, everything was "ours". Now, I want my own home. I want my own little block of the world, filled with my stuff and my memories. I want my fireplace, and I want my blanket to wrap up in on my couch, not one I'm mooching. I want my choices of artwork, my reflections, my photos, my books, my tools. Or ours. I have to admit that when I felt this yearning for "home", what most readily stood out was the idea of me getting all cozy along with someone special who is my home. Settling in for the night after a day's work, household chores, and family duties to read in our chairs in the evening after the kids (if any) have gone to sleep, or to bundle up together as a couple or as a family in our flannel jammies for a movie and hot chocolate and sourdough toast fingers or to sip herbal tea with my partner/spouse and talk about nothing important, or our goals for the week, or plans, or the kids' activities. But even if there's not a family or a special someone, I want a real, tangible "home" of my own, someplace I toil to make comfortable, clean, and secure.
Maybe this is a passing feeling. Maybe I'll be back to my nomadic ways and abstract notions of home tomorrow morning. Maybe the grass is greener. Maybe it's the autumn triggering treasured childhood memories. Maybe it's the juxtaposition of simpler perspectives and current complexities. Maybe it's living with my brother's family again. Maybe it's job-hunting and budgeting and planning for the future. Maybe it's recent reminders of the ways I felt so "at home" with [him]. Maybe it's a little of all of the above. But tonight, I'm remembering, and longing for, and planning towards, and looking forward to...home.
For now, back to that carefree nestling on a mooched couch...