"Home isn't a place, it's a feeling"

Last weekend, we had the surreal experience of going back to the place we just moved from and staying in the home we just moved out of. We still own the house, and our close friend who is renting graciously hosted us. I wondered how this might feel? It’s the inverse of what I wrote about when I pondered the muscle memory of learning a new place: the home is totally familiar, though with all of our things moved out, it doesn’t elicit the same feelings it once did. It’s like a shell that you hold up to your ear - it echos with the memories of home, but when you look inside, nothing is there.

As I stepped across the threshold, I thought of a phrase stenciled on an old window pane we used to have hanging in the living room, “Home isn’t a place, it’s a feeling.” We had that decoration for nearly 20 years, and while the physical object didn’t make the move, its saying felt so poignant. How quickly we had associated these feelings of home with a new place.

Later that evening, friends gathered. It could have felt strange to be hosted in a home that was technically still ours but no longer felt that way, to have our friends cooking in my old kitchen. But the experience wasn’t strange at all. Instead, I was able to put aside all judgement of how this might look or feel, cast away any potential awkwardness and embrace the loveliness that it was. Later that night, we snuggled up in the basement guest room, and I thought of all the guests we had hosted over the years. It felt strangely special to experience our home as they may have.

In the whirlwind of our 24-hour visit, my kids’ request was that we visit the climbing gym. Particularly for my oldest son, this was the toughest place to leave. For him, the gym was less about the physical place he climbed and all about the feelings this place elicited. This is where he spent days of his life solving problems, building relationships, learning how to be a teammate. This is where he engaged with other adults who coached him through frustration and fear. This is where, outside of our family unit, he first felt a sense of security and belonging. He lingered, taking extra time to collect his gear and pack up his bag.

For him, this place still harbored strong feelings of home, and he wasn’t ready to leave.

This whole experience has me wondering how closely, and for how long, a place is tied to these feelings. And also the corollary - how quickly might we begin to attach feelings of home to a new place. Perhaps it has little to do with the place at all, rather, like an air plant, it’s possible for us to feel comfortable and at home anywhere we feel nurtured, comfortable, safe and at peace - no dirt required.

As much as my son loves our new home, he is still searching for these feelings of confidence and security. He teared up as I drove out of the gym’s parking lot.

This experience helps me release some of the expectations I put on places to feel a certain way. Just as I shun the word “should” (I much prefer “I get to, or I want to vs. I should do…), I can release the expectations I may project onto places and give myself permission to feel what I feel when I am in them. That feeling of home is not necessarily tied to a house or the things in it. This weekend, we all felt most at home surrounded by friends. My son felt it at the gym. And then, as we turned the car north to head back to our new home, there it was again - a sense of calm and peacefulness. There is a reason we moved here. Since the very first time we visited, it felt like home - no house required.