Going home

What is home? Is it the bricks and mortar? Is it the location? Is it where your people are? Or some of your people? Is it the stuff and treasures? Is it safety, or not? Is it where work is? Is it where one grew up? Is it simply one’s official address?

I imagine it is parts of all of those.

And so, what does it mean to go home? To be at home? To have time away from home? To leave home? What are our assumptions about what home offers, or can no longer offer?

Homes change as we move. Homes can be layered over time as we grow. Can there be only one home or can there be two or more? Do we have to spend significant time in a space to call it home? Can home be a memory?

What is homeless? If one is homeless, is one also placeless? And if one is placeless does that mean, by definition, one is homeless? What about when homes get destroyed? What remains? Is the location still home or has the destruction been comprehensive enough to sever the ties?

Is home where our roots are? If we are bereft of roots, are we necessarily drifting? And if we are drifting, is it because our sense of home is uncertain or shifting? Are there roots buried elsewhere to which we might reattach? And is drifting a bad thing, anyway?

Today is going home day. Food for thought.

Until later,


2 thoughts on “Going home

  1. I used to tell Rebecca, my first daughter

    “home is where the heart is” as if it were my job, as a Mum, to guide her, as if I were the water,

    that knew;

    but as my artist friend Kirsten points out, there are countless homing questions that accrue,

    across a lifetime,

    of withs and withouts, and drifting without a line;

    here’s a shout out to my artist friend

    and that art of home, that will never end

    and to our home connections within our universe

    which one day become our hearse:

    home for me grows in part

    with each word and brush of your art.

    xo, TMB, Jan 2020


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