HOME:
a: one's place of residence
The Emerald City. It glimmers and shines all year, mostly because it’s wet. Still it’s a gem of a city. It’s green in every sense of the word: fresh, clean, healthy, bright, environment-friendly, growing, budding, lively, and envied—do you wish you lived here yet? Coffee capital of the world; there’s no better place to keep yourself warm and compensated for its trivial insufficiencies. But still, there’s that gray. Day after day I find myself smiling at the towering mountain ranges, the coming tide of the Sound, and sniffing that fresh rain air contently. But on those days where I let the gray get to me, and the green seems to have retreated back to hidden moss on the trees, I find myself wondering If I really call it “Home”.
If you want to know the truth, the cheapest place I’ve ever paid rent to is Starbucks. People say it’s extravagant but I know no other residence that would let me stay all day every day with free Wi-Fi if I want to, for on average 3.50 a day. In a sense, I’ve been residing here for years. I’ve known some of the baristas longer than my current roommates. Not that I’m recommending it (I am) but those cafes are in some ways, more familiar and comfortable than any house I’ve ever lived in. Still… “Home”?
HOME:
b: the social unit formed by a family living together; c: a familiar or usual setting : congenial environment;
Among my siblings I have 6 sisters, two by blood. During my childhood (up to 18) I divided my time quite evenly between three households: the one I was born into, and the other two I chose to be born into. Since moving away, those three families are now split between three cities and eight different households. Which of them is most congenial?
Familiar starts and ends at specific times. It starts when you’ve been somewhere long enough to know your way around and ends when you leave and go someplace else. Familiar usually starts late for me and, as it turns out, often ends early. Settings which have become familiar to me in the last 4 years: parents’ house, rented basement room in Seattle, stiff cot in a mission, king size bed in a house shared with a couple in their 60’s, a top bunk in a community center, and an airplane seat. So which one of those is the most usual? Referring to the degree of familiarity I felt? Easy: the airplane chair.
HOME
d: a place of origin <salmon returning to their home to spawn>; also: one's own country <having troubles at home and abroad>
Ah, this should be simpler. Home country, home state, home city, home. It seems home is a graph of circles, each getting smaller and smaller until you find yourself. Americans can get tripped up by this though, since very few of us are actually even from this continent. Still I’m from America, ish. And my home state is clear. City… I was born in Walla Walla, I grew up in the Tricities and I’ve spent the last 3 or so years in Seattle (when I wasn't overseas). So does where I’m from mean where I was born? Do I have to go spawn back in Walla Walla? Or is it where I was the longest? What if you’ve been away longer than you resided there, but have never lived anywhere else as long? What about people that are born in one place and then taken somewhere else? What about the millions of hyphenated people in America? Clearly they wouldn’t be satisfied with this definition. Mexican-American, Irish-American, African-American… Can I be “lost-American”? (I’m from America but have been migrating to all over the world ever since I got a passport that would let me try and fill the other half of my hyphen). I’ve spent a good chunk of the last 3 years “abroad”, so when does that become home? Abroad is my home. That can’t be my smallest circle…that sounds like I’m just floating in space or something. Obviously I’m not the only one this definition causes problems for.
HOME
e: the focus of one's domestic attention <home is where the heart is>
But it’s not a where! For me, it must be a who. I find myself in a predicament emotionally (and physically) whenever I try to define Home now. By basic definitions it ranges all over from a local coffee shop, my sister’s apartment, a nearby island, a distant island, and of course, Canada.
I’d like to give HOME a new definition: whoever you are investing in and have invested in. It’s less like a place but rather a trail, and as you slowly pull off the bread crumbs of your soul to leave behind, you’re not allowed to know if you’ll get to revisit or even who you’re leaving them for exactly. I find this definition agreeable for the sake that home becomes eternal. It can no longer be destroyed by a fire, moved to a beach house in Florida, or infested with termites. Its value can’t be measured in bricks, granite, ocean views, or squared feet. You can’t be evicted from it for lack of money, it won’t depreciate, and it can’t be condemned. It’s biblical. My treasure, my heart, my soul, my home, all synonyms.
Some day when my soul is collected back together again and He turns all my crumbs into a miraculously crafted and diversely flavored feast, heaven will be a home that agrees with Merriam-Webster. Home will be my residence, family, and origin for the first time, and the rest of my life.
“I want to live where soul meets body.” –Death Cab for Cutie
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