The Evolution of Home

When I was younger, home was a place

An old white farmhouse where I lived with my family

A single weeping willow tree in the front yard and corn fields mere steps away from the back porch

Our slate blue garage that doubled as my father’s workshop and was also home to vines of wild blackberries on its backside that grew in abundance

A modest above ground pool, a basketball hoop in the driveway and a water tower that I was convinced could only have been built by a giant

The place where my brother and I played tirelessly in the dirt all day, drank from the garden hose when thirsty and spent time lounging in the grass while our backyard chickens roamed freely

Where we sat on the porch and watched thunder and lightning storms build and crash once the pressure became too much for the clouds to contain any longer

Or had cookouts when the sun was out and the clouds drifted lazily through the azure sky

By the time I was a teenager, home was split between divorced parents

The farmhouse left behind for two separate addresses

One feeling like a prison where I could do no right, the other a sanctuary where I could just exist- but with its own set of hardships

Both were places I never quite felt like I belonged completely, always a little different than everyone else

Home was a place I was misunderstood and was constantly drowning in my failed attempts to do, say, or act as I was expected to

Entering into young adulthood home became a feeling, almost like an emotional embrace

Anywhere I could be accepted as myself and felt cared for

Escaping to friends houses for long stretches if I was welcomed into their family

Bonds being built with their parents and siblings that were sorely lacking in the households I labeled as home

A run down house with a woman and her young daughter who became my family by choice, showing more love and acceptance than I had ever felt before seemed more like a home to me

Home being uprooted because of death, guiding me to a small apartment with a deceitful lover that I called home, but it never truly was

Growing, learning, developing and realizing as a thirty-something year old that what feels like home changes and evolves over time

I no longer view my home as the house I live in, or just a feeling of comfort

It's the home I’ve created within the house

Where love flows in different forms, human to human, human to animal and vice-versa

The safe place where I can be free to be myself

Where a cacophony of animals give and receive love without boundaries

The comfortable routines of everyday life

These are only small parts of what home is to me now

Reflecting on what home truly means to me, a simple answer floods my mind immediately

Her.

She is home to me, in every sense of the word

The scent of her cologne and shampoo is home to me

The way her eyes sparkle when she is excited about what she’s talking about is home to me

The peace seeing her face brings me on even my worst day is home to me

The instant smile that comes just by hearing her voice is home to me

Watching her with our animals, playing, snuggling or just existing is home to me

Lazy weekends spent on the couch is home to me

Anywhere she is, is home