12.13
LAST DAY IN COCOA BEACH. My heart is light as I drink my Einstein Brothers vanilla sweet cream cold brew and listen to Harry Styles in the mini van. In my head I'm saying goodbye to the clear blue sky and ocean views. It's been "cold" here for the past few days (as in, low 50s), and for the first time I can feel Winter missing from me. I see pictures of snowy windows and Christmas sweaters and I long for Christmas lights and the cozy chill of New York. Home.
I started thinking yesterday about what Home means to me, a strange dichotomy to deal with. There's the home I grew up in, that I built my life around. The yellow house with red doors. Is that still home? At least, one of them? Can a place still be a home if it no longer holds any love for you? Perhaps not. Maybe it's just a shell of memories floating in the air. Inhabited by a single soul incapable of forgiveness, tormented by emptiness.
Then, there's a new home. A fresh home, devoid of fear and the echoing pain of certain memories. A home that holds promise of the present, and the weightlessness of freedom. A home with love etched into the air and goodness around every corner, not allowing room for emptiness. I think of my mom and brothers and my little white dog with coffee colored spots and it seems as though all the pain of the past is irrelevant. I have stored it up in boxes and left it behind. I can visit it every now and then, my home of the past, my house of memories.
Maybe we establish many homes for ourselves throughout our lifetime. When our time is through with them, we move on and find new ones. There are real ones, like the yellow one with red doors. Then there are the imaginary ones, that you slowly build inside yourself with certain moments and experiences. Sometimes, the imaginary ones can lie within the real ones, sometimes they are separate. Sometimes a home is merely fragments of your relationship with someone you had to leave behind. Eventually, these homes aren't homes anymore, just simply old houses. You can stop by and take a look around when you'd like, but you don't have to live there anymore. I think I've left quite a few old houses behind. But I've found a glorious home in the process.
My new home is more than walls and floors and a very cute dog. This home is a feeling of hope and relief and warmth. My new home is in Tomkins Cove. But it's also everywhere. It cannot be contained to one place. It's an omnipresent freedom, freedom from conditional love and unrealistic expectations. My new home is a feeling of belonging that I have waited my whole life for.
•••
I started thinking yesterday about what Home means to me, a strange dichotomy to deal with. There's the home I grew up in, that I built my life around. The yellow house with red doors. Is that still home? At least, one of them? Can a place still be a home if it no longer holds any love for you? Perhaps not. Maybe it's just a shell of memories floating in the air. Inhabited by a single soul incapable of forgiveness, tormented by emptiness.
Then, there's a new home. A fresh home, devoid of fear and the echoing pain of certain memories. A home that holds promise of the present, and the weightlessness of freedom. A home with love etched into the air and goodness around every corner, not allowing room for emptiness. I think of my mom and brothers and my little white dog with coffee colored spots and it seems as though all the pain of the past is irrelevant. I have stored it up in boxes and left it behind. I can visit it every now and then, my home of the past, my house of memories.
Maybe we establish many homes for ourselves throughout our lifetime. When our time is through with them, we move on and find new ones. There are real ones, like the yellow one with red doors. Then there are the imaginary ones, that you slowly build inside yourself with certain moments and experiences. Sometimes, the imaginary ones can lie within the real ones, sometimes they are separate. Sometimes a home is merely fragments of your relationship with someone you had to leave behind. Eventually, these homes aren't homes anymore, just simply old houses. You can stop by and take a look around when you'd like, but you don't have to live there anymore. I think I've left quite a few old houses behind. But I've found a glorious home in the process.
My new home is more than walls and floors and a very cute dog. This home is a feeling of hope and relief and warmth. My new home is in Tomkins Cove. But it's also everywhere. It cannot be contained to one place. It's an omnipresent freedom, freedom from conditional love and unrealistic expectations. My new home is a feeling of belonging that I have waited my whole life for.
•••
In other news, we are packing our bags today and leaving early tomorrow morning. Goodness always comes in waves, this is a good wave. I don't know if I will ever dress up in a Tyvex suit daily or get a bird book from a stranger or sleep so close to 12 other people again. Who knows, maybe I will. But I have appreciated my time here, ny experience of a lifetime. I'm grateful for all the incredible homeowners I've met, and all the times they touched my heart. Helping people in this program is bringing me closer to the heart of humanity, the universal desire for support and love.
This journey has been one of love, too. I see love everywhere. I have so much love for the people on my team. I love how Grant is like a little brother to me, how he'll grab my elbow to annoy me and I'll give him a noogie to annoy him back. I love Roy's constant hugs and indescribable wisdom. I love Wynn's youthful energy and how effortlessly comfortable we are with each other. It's like I've known her forever. I love Keeley's caring disposition and Jasmine's contagious laugh and knowledge of the magic of essential oils. I love joking with Jon about "not my chair not my problem" and sharing knowing glances when Matt does something unusual. Along with so many other wonderful qualities and wonderful people that are now in my world. I love how this program brought all these random people together and made us become each other's world for a year. Who knew it'd be so great, so warm, and so constantly silly.
This journey has been one of love, too. I see love everywhere. I have so much love for the people on my team. I love how Grant is like a little brother to me, how he'll grab my elbow to annoy me and I'll give him a noogie to annoy him back. I love Roy's constant hugs and indescribable wisdom. I love Wynn's youthful energy and how effortlessly comfortable we are with each other. It's like I've known her forever. I love Keeley's caring disposition and Jasmine's contagious laugh and knowledge of the magic of essential oils. I love joking with Jon about "not my chair not my problem" and sharing knowing glances when Matt does something unusual. Along with so many other wonderful qualities and wonderful people that are now in my world. I love how this program brought all these random people together and made us become each other's world for a year. Who knew it'd be so great, so warm, and so constantly silly.
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