One of my many dreams in life is to become a professional actor. I’m talking Broadway folks, not silver screen. And I want the whole dream. Starving artist, waiting tables, selling myself for lunch money, the whole bit. So a long while ago, I came to terms with the fact that at some point in my very exciting lifetime, I will live in a box. It will be a bitchin’ swanky dank box as far as boxes go…but a box nevertheless.
Yes, dear friends, I have accepted my inevitable homelessness.
Recently, the idea of finding/making a home has been coming to the front of my mind. More and more I’ve been put in situations that either make me think about where it is, was, or should be. Where it may or may not be in the future. And of course there is the overwhelming reminder that I don’t really have one at present. I mean, I’ve had three big moves in the last seven months. I’m starting to feel like a damn gypsy.
In fact, I don’t think I’ve had a true home (save a few years in college) since the divorce of my parents.
I don’t know how your parent’s divorce went, but mine split up and then stayed in the same city. I’m not looking to get into a “who’s childhood was worse” fight. On the whole, mine was pretty damn awesome. I just want to cover the good, the bad, and the fugly of my own personal experience.
Pros: I was able to keep both of my parents in my life equally. For this I am very grateful. Also, I was able to go to one school and keep my friendly relations on the normal side of things. (I mean…as normal as you can get when you’re me.) And of course, double the pets with half the responsibility. Glorious!
Cons: I was never able to set down roots at either house. Essentially, every Monday was moving day. All of my school things and most of my personal belongings were constantly shifting around. This became easier once I had a car and did the moving myself, but there was still a good deal of life upheaval on a weekly basis.
Due to this situation, I grew up without ever really feeling attachment to a particular place. Yes, I grew up in one city, but I didn’t live in the city. I lived in two different bedrooms which happened to fall within an invisible boundary that someone made up and drew on a map.
This detachment from my physical location turned into a blessing of sorts. When I moved away to college, I felt very little of this ‘home sickness.’ I saw many friends succumb to this phantom illness from time to time, but I had no home to be sick for. Not really. I had grown used to speaking with my parents by phone long before I was actually out of driving distance. Friends are easy enough to make, and we live in the age of Myspace and Facebook, so keeping old friends isn’t that difficult if you really try.
My second big move after college was into an apartment with the man I loved. Home is where the heart is, isn’t that what they say? Well they can shove it! After two years being together and just three months living together, our relationship came to an end. He’s still one of my best friends and will always have my heart, but I cannot claim a home with him. So this old saying that ‘they’ have come up with…blather and lies!
I live my life without attachment to any physical place, and I’ve learned in life that emotional attachment doesn’t always mean home. I’m homeless already.
Though I suppose this makes me better suited to go out and conquer the world. If ‘they’ are right about home being where the heart is, I am at a distinct advantage. My heart beats soundly in my chest, and sometimes it manages to find its way out onto my sleeve, but it’s never too terribly far away. So my home must be wherever I am at any given moment.
Forever homeless but always at home. Life is going to be an awfully great adventure indeed.