The concept of “home” is always something that’s confused me. Not because my life is, or has been, unstable in any way – on the contrary, I had a pretty great childhood and lived in the same house from ages 5-18. It’s all the discussion about what home is that confuses me.
Home could be, quite literally, where you live. Your castle. I always try to make my apartments personal, hanging paintings or posters, displaying my video game collection and books, and I’m terrible about hoarding little things like stuffed animals and figurines. When people come over, they definitely get a sense of who I am – my kitchen is filled with gadgets, I have all of my video game systems proudly on display, and there are posters of things I like on the walls (framed, because I’m an adult and I can buy $8 frames at Wal-Mart instead of using push pins like some kind of animal).
But have you ever been somewhere and felt this feeling deep inside you like you belong there? It’s sort of like relief, like you’ve finally found where you’re supposed to be. I guess that could also be my inner dreamer, or my active imagination. It’s easy for me to picture myself living in other places. Of course I’ve thought about the usual things – Los Angeles, New York City – but I most often think about it in two places – Minnesota, and northern Michigan.