Where we love is home,
Home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts. ~ Oliver Wendell Holmes
I sat quietly on the throw rug in the living room by myself. Within five minutes everyone else had exited my apartment (even the dog) and I was alone. I cried. A month of planning and packing and I was almost there. I was moving to my boyfriend’s home.
I have always had difficulty with change, even good change, but that being said I have gotten much better at it over the past few years. I wasn’t crying because I was sad though; this move was something I wanted more than anything. I was crying because change of any sort (even good change) is scary and risky. I was crying because I had nowhere at that moment that was “home” to me.
I have come to realize over the years that having a comfortable and safe place to call home is an integral part of who I am. Although I like to go out and experience the world, I am very much a homebody at heart. I am a woman who will forgo new clothes, shoes, jewelry, etc. in order to have more money available to make my home one that makes me feel at peace whether it be with candles, books, curtains, etc. It is the security blanket of my life. It is partly why I have probably enjoyed living alone at times in my life.
I had a strong sense of security and safety at this home I was leaving and I knew it would take a while to gain that in a new one, especially since I was moving into someone else’s home. To me, that is the most difficult kind of transition to make. It is one thing to move into an empty house that you can either make it your own or make it into something with the person you are moving there with. It is a whole different story to move into someone else’s space. I am fortunate because my boyfriend is very flexible about this type of thing but still, it feels awkward to move around someone else’s things and memories to make room for yours.
However, as the past three days have flown by, I have come to find things in this new place that make it feel like home. A fire in the fireplace. The sound of the train going by (I know this would drive some people crazy but I love it). The way the sunlight comes into the dining room in the morning.
But ultimately, I have found the most important thing in this new place that makes it feel like home. My dear love. He is the reason after all that I undertook this big change. He represents everything that is home to me. The feeling of security and contentment is not just about the walls, the furniture, or the belongings. It is about how I feel when I come home to him. It is about how I feel when he comes home to me. It is about how I feel waking up next to him every morning. His love for me is what makes these walls that surround me my home. And really, at the end of the day, he is my home.