Homeless

That’s how I feel lately. Sure, I live in a house, I’m not actually out on the street. But it’s really just a building, a shelter from the elements, a place to put my Stuff. It doesn’t feel like Home, even with all of my Stuff. Even with D. Even with the dogs. Because D isn’t always there and there are still a couple of people missing from the equation.


When I was in Portland for a conference last week, I was suddenly hit with feeling homesick. Being hit is exactly what it feels like too. It’s not just a little emotion, or a distant longing. It’s a physical, near-tangible feeling, as if someone dropped a coat of sadness on me and I can’t take it off. I sat for a few minutes wondering where it came from. I wasn’t alone, I was with people. I was even having fun. At first I thought maybe it was because I couldn’t completely be myself. I was with coworkers and my boss and, even though we were in a relaxed setting and not talking business, there’s still a level of professionalism to maintain.


After I got back to my hotel room, I realized that what I was and am missing is a home base. A place where people wait for me, where I’m missed. A place that wraps me in comfort and love, like a favorite, well-worn blanket the moment I step in the door. That is what home is to me, a place filled with people to love and be loved by.


Now when I have “guests” there is a level of formality and awkward politeness. It makes me uneasy, the absence of familiarity. Families don’t play host to each other. Families just are.


Tonight I’ll return to my house. It needs to be cleaned and dinner needs to be made. The dogs need to be fed. There are plenty of domestic chores to perform and take up my time. I will hug D when I arrive and again at bedtime. I can pretend it feels like home for a few minutes, especially for D, but I know I’m not really there yet.


Until then it feels like I’m just drifting, waiting for a place to land.