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What is Home?
I have just moved again to Toronto for another year of work. My job lends to a strangely nomadic life. And for a girl who sincerely loves a home to go back to, this is a wonderful and trying experience. I suppose this leads me to question what home is at all. When does somewhere begin to feel like home to me? Obviously the places that are linked to much of my history are the most steeped in me-ness. Every corner, every smell, every storefront is rich in memory. My apartment is filled with objects from my travels, books I love, art that moves me, textiles and colour and light… And the city houses many of the people I love. All these things and people reflecting some aspect of my inner life. All of these things and people full of meaning.Home feels like where I feel most me. Which is a funny statement because, to be clichéd about the whole thing, I am always me no matter where I am. But really, I begin to feel settled in places that are foreign to me when I have a community. When there are people that I can and want to share my life with. And then, it is whether I can find aspects to the place that reflect my interests and values. And then, it is pure comfort and familiarity… Like, how do I feel in the climate? Are there patches of green? Is there food I like to eat? Is my bed comfortable?Truly though, I am home everywhere I go. I can be anywhere and have access to all the richness of me without any of the things mentioned above. It definitely doesn’t feel the same as a city filled with memory and people, but I have been working to cultivate a home that is within. And I feel this is the most important task. I write this from my temporary Toronto home. I am sitting on my couch listening to people play a game of softball outside. The air smells familiar and the breeze is cool. And this is my home. For now. In the meantime I have some lovely photos of the home I live in on the west coast. Some of which I’ve shared in this post. ~ Kristin
I have just moved again to Toronto for another year of work. My job lends to a strangely nomadic life. And for a girl who sincerely loves a home to go back to, this is a wonderful and trying experience. I suppose this leads me to question what home is at all. When does somewhere begin to feel like home to me? Obviously the places that are linked to much of my history are the most steeped in me-ness. Every corner, every smell, every storefront is rich in memory. My apartment is filled with objects from my travels, books I love, art that moves me, textiles and colour and light… And the city houses many of the people I love. All these things and people reflecting some aspect of my inner life. All of these things and people full of meaning.Home feels like where I feel most me. Which is a funny statement because, to be clichéd about the whole thing, I am always me no matter where I am. But really, I begin to feel settled in places that are foreign to me when I have a community. When there are people that I can and want to share my life with. And then, it is whether I can find aspects to the place that reflect my interests and values. And then, it is pure comfort and familiarity… Like, how do I feel in the climate? Are there patches of green? Is there food I like to eat? Is my bed comfortable?Truly though, I am home everywhere I go. I can be anywhere and have access to all the richness of me without any of the things mentioned above. It definitely doesn’t feel the same as a city filled with memory and people, but I have been working to cultivate a home that is within. And I feel this is the most important task. I write this from my temporary Toronto home. I am sitting on my couch listening to people play a game of softball outside. The air smells familiar and the breeze is cool. And this is my home. For now. In the meantime I have some lovely photos of the home I live in on the west coast. Some of which I’ve shared in this post. ~ Kristin
