Home is…where your stuff is?

Well, I’m back “home” in Huntsville. I got back yesterday afternoon and have unpacked the car and a few things beyond that even. I had a great time away but it’s nice to be back to the comforts of my stuff. But that’s not quite it, either. How is “home” defined?

I’ve actually been thinking about it quite a bit the last few weeks that I’ve been away. Especially since the fire at my parent’s house. There is that old saying, “home is where the heart is” that I agree with. I think of the Austin are, where my family and friends live, as my home town. But when I’m there, I don’t feel totally at home anymore. I think mostly because I don’t have a place of my own here. Even in my parent’s house, I don’t have a room since I’ve never actually lived there. I drove by my house in Pflugerville once and even that didn’t feel like home, especially with other people’s cars in the driveway. There are plenty of places I feel “at home”, since they all belong to people I care about, and that care about me, but they’re not “home”, either.

For me, home is where I can really relax and have “me time”. A place where I’m not imposing on anyone else or their space. Where I really have a space of my own. A place where the pictures on the walls are the ones I’ve chosen to put there and I have complete control of the remote (or when I was living with Brad, we would compromise on that). Yup, home is where your stuff is. It sounds so petty to say like that but it’s kind of true, don’t you agree?

By the way, I have too much stuff. But that’s a post for another day.

Love you, mean it!

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