“Home” – It’s Where the Boobs Are, and A Return to Normal Service

Many apologies for my absence – after a long weekend with the in-laws, followed by my second day as a volunteer falconer, I can now say that normal service will be resuming!  I’m afraid I haven’t had time to work on The Adventurous Time Adventures, or anything else for that matter, but I should be posting more of that in due time as well.

So onto today’s topic:  Where is “home”?

The Husband and I were talking last night about him being an adult yet craving the childhood home.  He feels a sense of loss when we get back to our own flat after spending time there.  Is it bad that, for all I adore my in-laws, I feel nothing but relief?

I think it all has to do with what “home” is to each person.  To The Husband, home is still where his parents and brother are.  To me, home is wherever my belongings happen to be residing for the moment.  I have a hard time functioning in other spaces.

Don’t get me wrong – that could sound terribly materialistic, and maybe it is.  But it’s merely linked to my experiences of constant transatlantic journeying, and how I’ve been forced to reevaluate and reprioritise my life to fit into two suitcases for the past 6 years.  So when I begin to settle myself down somewhere, and have unpacked said suitcases, that place is immediately termed “home” in my mind.

This has some consequences.  Mainly that I hate to be relocated again once settled.  Moving is such a pain, it’s a universal fact, but even just packing an overnight bag can be an ordeal to me.  I can always be counted on to forget some random thing that becomes The Most Important Thing Ever and because  it’s not with me I get sad.  It reminds me, on a smaller scale, of how I have had to leave so much behind whenever I’ve moved countries.

I’ve done that a lot, especially when I was moving back to the US every summer while at university.  Because I had to once again fit my life into the two suitcases I’d arrived in, things were inevitably left behind.  Some left with flatmates and friends who mostly returned them, and others ultimately thrown out/given to charity shops.

I still have moments when I go, “Oh what happened to that skirt?  I loved that skirt, I want to wear it today – Oh crap I gave that away.  Damn!”  And then I feel ridiculously sad out of all proportion to the issue of a mere skirt.

So home is where my crap is.

But actually, this isn’t entirely it either.  We lived at the in-laws for a couple of months before finding our own place, and while it was homey it still wasn’t our home – to me, at least.  As a couple, I feel like our home has to be our own space where we can start our own lives.  It can’t be shared by any others apart from future pitter-patterings of tiny baby feet.  So there’s that aspect of “home” as it pertains to our current phase in life as well.

However, a friend and I have a saying:  Home is Where the Boobs Are.

And it’s true.  For all that I’ve placed undue importance on my belongings it’s really my self, my person, my thoughts, my boobs, that make me me.  And ultimately that’s the mark of home.  Home is where you are, with your boobs, and you decide it’s your home.

And my boobs are here right now.  This is Home.

One response to ““Home” – It’s Where the Boobs Are, and A Return to Normal Service

  1. Heheh our silly wisdom turns out to be very thought-provoking. 😉

    I know we’ve talked about our fluid definitions of home, since we are both people who have moved around a lot in the last few years (you more than I, naturally!). But it really struck me last week when I went to my parents’ house for Christmas. My inclination was to say that I went “home” for the holidays, and then when I left Pittsburgh for Madison, I also thought of it as going “home”. So home is wherever my boobs are going, as well…

    Also, I think we’ve talked about this before too, but I totally feel you on the need to have a separate new home as a couple, instead of one of you trying to incorporate the other into his or her pre-existing home. I guess that is why most people stay local and marry local and never have to compromise on these things more than deciding between neighboring towns. It’s a mixed blessing being geographically unattached!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s