Even after a few glasses of cheap wine and an exhaustingly overemotional night, I couldn’t sleep soundly. I lay there, trying to ignore the slight spin of the room, trying to remember what it was exactly that kept me here.
Fear was the only reasonable answer that I could come up with. It was all that made sense. The comfort of a home (idea or not) is all I have ever known. And while my definition of home isn’t typical of what you might think, it is what it is and it will be hard to leave.
Thinking further, there are only a handful of factors in my ideal “home” and mostly, they are people. The ocean means home to me, but more than that it is not where I hang my hat, but it is whose hat is next to mine once I do.
This analysis began about a year ago. Sometime in the months leading up to the infamous “quarter of a century”, I started to really take stock. And for the most part of this year, I have been cleaning house. I have mentioned before in this blog, getting rid of things that I don’t need, severing ties with people that serve no real purpose in my life, trying to make things simple. I have learned a lot about people. I have learned a lot about myself. But I am still working.
I came to the conclusion that I do know what I mean to the people who matter. I know what they mean to me and I know that distance or time can only affect that as much as I let it. The fear that I have about leaving my proverbial “home” isn’t gone and I don’t suppose it will ever go away until I face it, and I think that I can live with that. Its what I choose to do now that will predict where I will end up. And while that is terrifying, there is assurance in the fact that these people who have been here, well…lets just say, they aren’t going anywhere (although sometimes I need to be reassured of it). And really, what more could I need?
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