The phrase “home is where the heart is” has always resonated with me. As a kid, I didn’t stay in one house for long. We moved when my parents divorced, when my mom got serious with a boyfriend, again when she broke up with the serious boyfriend, and when a friend of hers offered a good housing opportunity.
My brothers moved out of the house early, so for most of my childhood, home was always me and mom. Even after I got married and started a life of my own, home still equated to mom. Not where she lived, but her.
I’ve come to recognize that feeling of home in other places as well. My husband and kids are also my home, no matter if we are under the same roof or not.
Reminiscing feels like home. A walk through my childhood neighborhood feels like no time has passed. I see a modern-day corner apartment building, but I feel the corner market where I would go after school with a pocket full of quarters to play Pac-Man or Galaga.
Music feels like home. Put some John Mellencamp on and my heart is bursting. Wherever I am or whatever I’m doing, Jack & Diane will put me on pause to remind me of who I am.
Shared history feels like home. I was in a meeting at work and during introductions, one of the attendees gave a brief history of his career. His resume included a company that I worked for 25 years ago. I have nothing but fond memories of that place and the connection, at that moment, felt like home.
“Home is where the heart is” connects to a feeling. My specific family, music preferences, memories, and past are all my home because they’re in my heart and can only be felt by me.
Maybe a little piece of my heart is left with each place I call home, waiting for me to visit. And when I do, that little piece finds its place and my heart feels more whole if only for a while.
Home is not just one place. Home is where the scattered pieces of my heart are.
What makes you feel at home?
Perfect Dysfunction 