I went home a few weeks ago for my grandfather's funeral, and, armed with my new fancy camera, I decided it was high time to take some snapshots of what growing up looked like for me.
I still haven't decided what "home" is to me at this time in my life. I call both directions of my journeys between Minnesota and California "going home"; one is my native land, and the other is where my current life exists. As far as a specific location goes, however, I still consider my (parents') house to be my real Home, with a capital H. It's the place I've felt the safest, the one constant thing I can always go back to and sink into comfortably.
My bedroom at home has always been my safe haven, but as I spend more time away, I feel a little less attached to it, and that scares me, because I don't have a replacement safe haven yet. I've yet to feel the same way about anywhere else.
It's this whole in-between thing that is getting to me. I want to belong, fully and completely. And right now...I just don't. This matters to me more than some people. It matters a lot to me.
I guess that, just like everything else in life, it takes time to figure these things out. I have faith (sometimes) that I'll feel that same sense of wholehearted belonging again in my life. Maybe it'll be when I have a family, or maybe it'll take buying an actual house and living there for another twenty-some years for it to happen. But either way, it'll happen. Hopefully.
Happy Monday, friends.