Home is now becoming an interesting blend of all the places I love. I often find my mind lost in not knowing exactly what feels like home anymore because home has become all around me. I lay in a field in Tennessee and think of the expanse of the cornfields in Indiana. I see qualities of people from all parts of my life in each other, making all of my friends connected in some sort of web, each playing a specific role, yet all wonderfully jumbled together in a mess.
I’ve spent the better part of my (so far) short adult life trying to figure out what home feels like. To experience things that made me feel safe, loved, cared for, alive. I tried to force home out of different houses I’ve lived in, but home can’t be contained within one building. I think I knew this but never believed it until this moment. I feel the most at home in a place that feels like every place I care about in one. A place that is most certainly unique yet feels so familiar. A place where I can feel an acceptance of being free, being alive. I feel most joyful when I can recognize elements from every part of my life, from the scenery to a specific way I once felt. The perfect mix of uniqueness and familiarness.
A place where there is no pressure to be anything, to feel or act a certain way. All that’s left in these places is the deepest core of who I am, who I was, and who I aspire to be. These places of home are actully just a picture of me at all places in my life; an effortless blend of myself at all stages of life. No regrets, no shame, no judgement lies in these places. Only a longing to reconcile all parts of me into the person I am in that moment.
You can’t exactly describe these places, you just know when you’ve happened upon one. I’m certain that’s what makes the moment, the place even more magical.