Home means something different for each and every one of us.
There are several ways to define home in the dictionary, but my favorite is “a familiar or usual setting“.
For some, it will always be their childhood home. For others it will be the home they built for themselves. And sometimes, home is as simple as being inside of someone’s arms.
I used to think home was best explained as a building with four walls and a roof. A solid structure where I felt like I belonged. A safe fenced in yard, where many memories were made. A place I always looked forward to visiting. Somewhere that no judgements were made, and everyone always had good inside of them. And, once in a while, someone would get called a scheister.
It was my Omi and Opi’s home, and although it did not live there, for all intents and purposes it was my childhood home. It was a part of our family for more than 50 years.
It was sold in 2016, and I had to go through the gut wrenching process of moving Omi and cleaning out the house. Watching her give away all of her possessions was not an easy thing to do. Omi lost her home that day, and I thought I had lost mine too.
Since then, I have started to view things a little differently. Home has becomes nothing more feeling.for me. It is the place I feel most safe and most comfortable. Often, I find it where I would least expect it to be, but it fills me up with a kind of calmness that I have never found anywhere else.
No matter how you define it, there really is no place like home.
I am counting down the days until my 40th birthday with 40 Things.