The Little but Mighty Porch

The concept of home has always ran across as strange to me. It’s as if we are supposed to have this exact physical place engrained in our minds. A place filled with our families and cherished memories. We close our eyes and see a cookie cutter house, with a white picket fence, and a golden retriever running through the yard. Everyone is surrounded together enjoying a nice dinner. Suddenly we blink and a flash of truth rushes over us as we quickly realize our own reality. This is not our concept of home. In fact, it may be quite the opposite.

Many of us come from broken families, multiple moves, and traumatic experiences. Some have pasts built from divorce and unhealthy vices. The foundation of our homes has been rocky, and that white picket fence fairytale has been just that – an imaginary dream. So what exactly is home?

There is no doubt that mankind was built to be resilient. We often push through adversities to simply live, and with that, we create a sense of belonging everywhere we go. Whether that is in the car on a long road trip, and we adjust the seat just right, or maybe it is in a temporary apartment where we hang picture frames of our loved ones as a constant reminder. Wherever we go, we build a foundation. We build a home.

Over the years I have built foundations in many different cities and even countries. My friends and family often call me a free-spirit as I enjoy going on new adventures and seeing the world for what it is, but in the back of my mind, I have always had a sense of what home means to me. Home is a sense of security; a comfortable and safe space where I can be my true and authentic self. Home to me is the little but mighty back porch of my mother’s quaint house.

This back porch has been in and out of my life for the past six years. My initial memory there was when my mom first moved in after her divorce from my dad. I was 18 years old, a senior in high school, and I felt like my life was flipped upside down. My parents were married for 27 years, and in my eyes at the time, they just threw it all away in the trash like it was nothing. I would often go to that back porch and look out onto the lake and contemplate about life’s biggest mysteries – love and happiness. It quickly became a place I felt at peace. A place where I could escape.

I then moved to college, and this back porch became an even more sacred sanctuary. The back porch was a time when my grandmother and grandfather would come over to join my mom and I. Together we would eat an array of cheeses and drink sips of wine. We would sit next to one another with the warm breeze hitting our faces and feel that beginning buzz from the dry wine. After being away at college for months at a time, this porch felt like a family paradise. A rare time where we all stopped for a moment from the chaos of life and simply enjoyed each other’s company.

Even today, the back porch is my favorite cozy place – a place I absolutely adore. I often grab a good book along with a hot cup of black coffee and go there to relax. Over the years, we have even dazzled it up to make it feel more like ours. We have potted plants in every corner with a fire pit for when it gets cold. We have strung colorful lights across the top roof, and this year we even set up a Christmas tree. But, my most proud part is the fairy garden we created. It’s a large broken pot that has a variety of extravagant plants, flowers, and little fairy figurines. It's a constant reminder for me to chase my dreams. With love and craft, we have designed this porch from top to bottom, and I could not be more proud.

Like many others, my foundation has indeed been rocky at times, but looking back at all the moments sitting on that porch, I am starting to believe that maybe some fairytales do come true.