Where is home? What is home? How do you find home?
Depending on who who are, the answers to these questions may vary. Most would say that, simply put, home is the place where one lives. Again, depending on who you are, this definition is either simple or complicated. You see, it could be where one resides or it could be where one “lives.” What is living to you?
Instead of trying to guess what you, the reader, considers home, I will instead dive into what home means to me…
I can honestly say that most of my life I never felt home. Everywhere was just a temporary somewhere. I would move, things would change, nothing ever felt like a “happy place.” The closest I ever came to home was staying with my grandparents after one of my mother’s and mine’s infamous throw-downs. My grandma would make up the guest bedroom and set up a spare TV for me. She would make me breakfast for dinner and give me the warmest hugs. She would tell me,”You don’t have to like your mom all the time, but you always have to love her.” That felt like home. I did not reside there. Hell, I didn’t even live there. I was not doing anything that made me feel alive. So, how could that be home? Sometimes, home is a feeling. I felt warm and safe and happy. That is what home means to me.
As an adult, I have found it quite rare for moments to come along where I feel warm and safe and happy. It has been almost 9 years since I made the decision that I wanted my own home. When I had my son, I wanted to provide him with a place that he could always come back to. This place would always have a “Nic” place. If he found himself lost, he could come home. For 9 years I have wanted to settle down and make a stable life for both myself and my son.
…and so I will continue to fight to find it