Home

I stayed home from work yesterday.  I was feeling a bit under the weather… worn a little thin and not taking care of myself as I should finally caught up with me.  I found little humor in the fact it was also April Fools’ Day.  It was like my body was on board with this universal prank to try to slow me down.

April Fools’ Day makes me skeptical in itself, alongside my normal dose of cynicism; but, as I lie in bed thinking—because even if my body isn’t going, my brain still does—I realized that I signed the lease and claimed the keys to this structure I reside in—this place I now call “home”—exactly one year ago today.

HOME.

It’s a universally familiar concept I think, but with perhaps universally different meanings and potential interpretations.

Home. Homesick. Homeward bound. Home-cooked meal. Home-field advantage. Homebody. Homestretch. Homemaker. Homestead. Homely. Homeroom. Homemade. Hometown. Homework. Homecoming. Home.

It is a peculiar word… or at least our myriad uses of it are peculiar. Or perhaps it is just a concept.  A concept I’ve redefined over the course of my lifetime, but in particular over the past year and a half.

I was raised in a beautiful home by catalog standards.  I had (and still have) a terrific family.  I had privilege and blessings that I’m only now just beginning to fully understand.  I went to high school football games on Friday nights and church on Sunday mornings.  I went away to summer camp, we went back-to school clothes shopping, and I was able to engage in any extracurricular activities my heart desired.  I hold many wonderful memories and have carried forth numerous traditions. My own childhood was long ago, but I cherish it to this day.

I first had to re-define home when my parents divorced.  I was a young adult, in my early twenties.  My parents had worked hard and raised their own children (me and my brothers).  Now, they were responsible for their own decisions and it was time for them to figure out their own futures; but, their empty nest was no longer going to be our family’s home.  I was never going to bring my children to the house I grew up in.  I had to redefine what I always thought would be.

And then, after nearly a decade, when my own marriage was falling apart, I had to re-evaluate and reconsider my thinking on many matters.  I’ve always had a vision for how I thought… no, how I wanted… my life, my family, my home to be. And yet somehow, I’d catered to everyone’s wishes but my own. I became passive and forgot that I was responsible for creating this life I’m living.  It was clear that I was going to have to let go of some perceptions deeply ingrained and redefine… reinvent even… what was important to me.

This all became easier the day I realized that I was quite possibly the single, greatest influence in my daughters’ lives.  I was the example they would know.  I wasn’t happy with myself, with my own life.  I certainly wasn’t living a life that I’d hope or wish for them.  But nevertheless, I was setting the example.  I was defining what happiness and marriage, partnership and communication were… or in my case, were not.  What was I showing them?  What was I modeling?

This was a powerful and pivotal realization for me.  Suddenly, I became far more concerned with creating—and maybe more so, specifically defining—what “home” would be for me, and for my three girls.

Home is so many things, but it ISN’T even more.  It isn’t just the address on your tax forms or where you receive your mail.  It isn’t the school district you live in.  It isn’t only a man and a woman living as husband and wife, with 2.3 kids, and a dog.  It isn’t the white picket fence.  It isn’t “keeping up with the Joneses.”

Home—no matter the structure, geographic location, or entity… no matter the perceptions, ideologies, or religious dogma—Home, I believe, is where truth, authenticity, vulnerability, loyalty, encouragement, commitment, and the purest form of love SHOULD reside.  Home is where you find solace and comfort.  Home is where you keep your promises, hug often, say “I love you,” and make huge messes but even bigger memories.

But those things don’t just happen, HOME is created.

So when I moved out of the “marital home”—the only home my children had ever known—I was terrified that I was taking something significant away from them (and I can admit that inevitably I was, as they too had created a definition of home).  But I also realized that I was going to be able to create a new version of home… for us.  A version that took me a step closer to the definition I wanted to create… towards the life I dreamed of… toward the person I wanted to be and to whom my daughters would look up to, admire, and respect (or that I could at least be proud of if nothing else).

So, I pay rent now instead of a mortgage.  My girls share a bedroom instead of each having their own. Things are a little leaner.  Our home isn’t big enough to hide from each other or to avoid our problems or disagreements—and that was intentional.  We eat dinners together as a family.  We have movie night on Fridays. The walls we live in are full of color, music, laughter, and love… alongside my children’s art and a splash of glitter.  We roller skate inside.  We have dance parties in the kitchen.  Friends and family stop by unannounced and are always welcomed—despite dishes in the sink or dust bunnies on the floor.  We’ve created new memories, defined new traditions, and we’ve completed a full calendar of holidays now.

And you know what?

This is the best version of home that I’ve ever known.  I’m comforted, happy, and give a sigh of relief when I walk through the door at the end of a long day.  As much as it drives me crazy, I love their backpacks, jackets, socks, and dirty clothes strewn about the floor.  I cherish the finger prints on my sliding glass door and the pencil smudges on my countertop from after-school homework.

I love that our house is truly HOME…

…where they can be whoever they are— be it the best or worst version of themselves—and know, without question, they are still loved.

…where they can act silly or serious, and be celebrated for both.

…where they can lobby and fight for what they believe, even if I have to eventually be the parent.

… and, where they learn that home is the first version of community we ever experience.

Mother Teresa once said…

If you want to change the world, go home and love your family.

To which I simply say, “Yes, mam.”