Searching for a Home

Ramblings of looking for home everywhere except for the place it truly exists…

Home. Words that immediately come to mind are comfort, cozy, and safe. A description of where you go as your haven, where all your things are, set up exactly as you love. A place you love to be and call your own.

I’ve been preoccupied with this idea of home lately. I haven’t had the same address for longer than four months in the last nine. And, in the last year I’ve called three different buildings “home”. Each one of those homes feels very different in my mind. One of them felt like the safest place in the world. Another felt like a stop-over; albeit a nice one but it was never mine. And the house I call home currently feels comfortable and luxurious; yet…it’s not mine either (for context’s sake, I moved into my bff and her husband’s house during Covid because living by myself was going about as great as the Titanic did).

I’m not sure what exactly is triggering this sense of searching for a home to call my own now, but the seed is planted and has got me thinking. Home really is more than just that place to lay your head at night. I’m sure it has a lot of different meanings for everyone but for me it’s becoming apparent that it’s safety I’m looking for. I’m looking for peace, for a refuge; something that’s mine that I get to build into the perfect space for me and for my goals and supportive of the lifestyle I want to live.

I think I’m looking for a home of my own because I’ve gotten myself so busy lately that I feel like I’ve neglected my own Self a little bit. I’ve hardly spent any time at home, so it’s really no surprise that I’m missing a feeling of being home! Truthfully, I think I’ve made myself feel a little bit resentful for my busy-ness and I’ve mislabeled the problem. I don’t mean to insinuate that it’s not important to have coffee dates with friends, hang out with my boyfriend, or go hiking and camping, or have girls nights or anything else. But I haven’t spent much time just with myself, or on the work that inspires me, the ideas I have, and the bigger-picture goals I have. So I’m blaming my living situation for that, rather than taking responsibility for it myself. I’ve made it up in my head that if I have my own home I’ll feel less chaotic and therefore, feel safer and grounded again. Key words: I made it up.

Home isn’t a building. It’s not a boyfriend or girlfriend. It’s not a best friend. It’s not a pet. It’s not a career or a job. Home is a state of mind. Home is within me. If I don’t get right, wholly and completely with myself, it won’t matter if I live in a 5 million dollar home, a studio loft in the city, a perfect little cabin in the mountains, or a cute hut in a tropical place. The quote “wherever you go there you’ll be” comes to mind. If I don’t find that sense of home, safety, and groundedness within myself I won’t find it anywhere. I can find the perfect place to live and set it up exactly to my taste; I can have a dog, and a cozy bedroom and lots of plants, and windows everywhere and I’ll still feel this pit of loneliness and dissatisfaction. Unless I turn inwards and remember that home is within me. Home is who I am, it’s the inherent safety and love that is my very being.

My ego immediately wants to jump in and yell at me for this woo woo bullshit. It wants to tell me that I’ll be so much happier in my own space and that I’ll be more productive, I’ll stay focused, I won’t be so distracted and everything will be better. The ego also wants to convince me that I haven’t had my own home in months. It tells me that I’ve lost the safety of the home I used to have and that unless I find a way to recreate it, I’ll never be happy again. The ego has so many stories of : reach for *insert goal* and then you’ll be happy; endlessly striving for something and never being completely satisfied in the moment. I’ve gotten caught up in it. I’ve gotten caught up and out of my moment and that’s the reason for my unrest, not my living situation.

Forgetting that home is within myself is the key here. When I remember and fully embody that the feelings of safety, comfort, and love of being “home” come from myself, I feel safe and peaceful and at home no matter where I am. I stay focused automatically. I’m more selfish (the good kind of selfish) with my time and I have a healthy balance of being with the people I love and making sure I’m staying in touch with my own self without having to set strict rules or boundaries. Moving into a new building becomes a neutral event. And, sure, I do want to have my own home and space again. But the sense of urgency dissipates because I’m not using a building as a bandaid treatment for a deeper wound. The wound of feeling lost and homeless can only be mended by realizing that I’m the one who made that story up. Checking in with my highest Self always reveals the Truth and restores that sense of peace and safety I’m looking for.

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