There's been a lot of talk of "home" lately. I moved home until I can move into my very first home (that I own. Yeah. I know. Who let that happen) and left Calgary, a city that for five years I also called home. Home is a weird word for me, and it has always had a heavy meaning. It took several years before I called Calgary home because I felt like that was a betrayal to where I was from, and as much as my teenage self wanted desperately to forget my home town, I quickly became afraid to forget my roots when it was actually time to leave. The day I forgot to mention I'm from a town with the largest bronze horse and rider statue in the world was the day I really lost myself. Ok, not really, but this week I wanted to tell you a story about what my home is. Nelly Furtado, I'm talking to you, you free spirit.
A couple days after I moved back in with my parents, my mom played me a song called "The House That Built Me" by Miranda Lambert. Yes, I'm a bit behind on my country music, give me a break. But get this-- I started BAWLING. A nice girls day out for a shopping trip and I am ugly crying my mascara onto my shirt. And it wasn't because of my fond thoughts of the Ponoka Stampede or Superfoods closing down, oh no. I started thinking about the very first place I ever called home; I started to think about our farm. The tears were definitely welling at the mention of "her favourite dog buried in the yard", and then did those tears start strutting right down my face when I heard:
I thought if I could touch this place or feel it, this brokenness inside me might start healing. Out here it's like I'm someone else. I thought that maybe I could find myself.....
And that my friends, no joke this time, was when I realized I had forgotten to feel my home. With the mortgage papers and the house insurance and the time sheets and the never ending to-do list for my (hilarious yet genuine) attempt at preparing for adulthood I had completely forgotten to connect with who I was and instead was primarily defining myself by what I was doing. I've been excited, yes, but I've also been extremely overwhelmed and kind of lacking in the "taking care of/being myself" department. I'm pretty sure that for the past couple of weeks if I was asked to tell anyone about myself I would have started reciting my policy and account numbers instead of telling you about my love for music, my obsession with the colour pink, and my childhood playing outside until the farm yard light kicked on. There once was a time where the first thing I would tell someone about myself was where I was from-- where my home was. Luckily, the goddess of emotional wisdom Ms. Lambert slapped me in the face with those sappy lyrics and I remembered just exactly where that is.
Yes, I do actually drive by my old house all of the time, and yes, I've thought about asking to just walk around a bit and sit on the swing set my Dad and Grandpa and Uncle built me that's still standing there. But I don't need that to feel my home. My home isn't what's under my feet, it's what reminds me where I come from that makes me feel like there is something under my feet. Home is the memories from the various other places we called home, too. It's my mom's favourite recipes and hearing my dad's laugh and dancing in the car with my sisters and seeing my brother in law's smile. It's the smell of my boyfriend's parents house and the way he looks at me. It's watching TV on the couch with my best friend. It's a canola field when the sun is going down. Soon, it will be the smell of my very own home. It will be the drive into my garage and the walk into my back door. The point is, I have to remember the things that make me up to feel whole. And those things, those memories, those places I come from and the feelings they give me, that's home.
So I drove out to see my very first home tonight, and on the way I stopped to take a breath (and a picture with my phone) and remember who I am. So now, as I sit here writing to you, I feel right at home.
Thank you for reading, for your patience, and for being a part of what makes me feel at home. Don't forget to sparkle!
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