When we moved to SF, I knew that I would be leaving behind everything that I understood a home to mean.
What I didn’t know was that I would be greeted with a new definition, and in some ways the idea I had would not be somewhere to which I could simply return.
I had spent my first 26 years in Vancouver, travelling away from there, but always returning. My ideas of home had changed in the natural ways they do when you move out from your family and into new spaces. But Vancouver had always been my home. I wasn’t sure that same feeling could ever sprout somewhere else.
Being married to a man who calls home to many cities. I wasn’t sure what that would mean for us. But tucked safely in the back of my mind was the fact that, he knew of homes, but I knew of a singular home. Wouldn’t that be the anchor that would bring us safely back?
As I let it though, my life slowly took root in SF. In the bright yellow light of the morning in my kitchen. In the soft dinners at a table I had personally sanded and oiled back to life. In the long walks with our dog, and in the nights spent with new friends.
This is easily my home now. The city we had our wedding in. The place we adopted our dog, the apartment we chose together, the things we collected, and the friendships we nurtured.
But more importantly I learned that your home is not a place, well not really. Your home is a space you nurture and grow in, a place you set down your feet, the place you call home.
I’m so excited to visit the place K will soon be calling home.
the perfect song about home.