Today is what we Michiganders know too well – gross, unpredictable, annoying, slick, cold, frustrating weather. It has either snowed or frozen rained all day long leaving drivers clenched to their steering wheels, homebodies protectively wrapped in their blankets as they frowned at the sky through their kitchen windows, kittens hidden in crevices of sheets and pillows, and office workers massaging their temples as their eyes traced the bullying second hand tick round and round. Welcome to winter ya’ll.
As my mother returned from a long afternoon of work, traffic, and taking my youngest brother to driver’s training, she breathed the heaviest sigh I’ve heard in a long time. “You okay?” I asked her from the other room (I myself felt a little guilty having had the day off). She quickly answered, “Yes… I am just happy to be home.” I smiled and felt myself burrow deeper into the couch and novel I had just started. And in that moment I felt a wave of emotion. The feeling of home.
I felt relief. I felt gratitude. I felt comfort. Being able to take off your soaked winter jacket, hat, gloves, and retreat into your sacred family space. Home feels like all the good things in the world.
It feels like the building anticipation of hot water boiling for your third cup of tea. A scurrying of feet back to your warmed spot and pages begged to be read.
Home feels like the release of tears to a friend who truly understands the season you’re trying to figure out. Like Lord Huron’s song Ends of the Earth. Like dim lighting and music that grooves into the air. It feels like a friend’s fire place and whisper conversations that echo loudly into your heart. Home feels like everything is going to be okay. Home is hope. Home is a loud Sunday afternoon of board games and dining rooms crowed with sibling laughter. Home is going to hipster bars just you can dance to good music. Home is pieces of your puzzled life that fit together one by one. Home is breathing and going 3 miles per hour. Home is breaking the speed limit. Home is remembering the longings that are filled. Home is finding old photos of a pudgy young child and a beautiful ageless mother. Home is a walk to feel the fresh air. Home is crazy and home is a dream. Home is a gift, a treasure. Something to be shared. Something to give. Home is listening and not speaking. Home is yelling in the car to songs that make you feel free. Home is the sun. Home is the stranger who became a friend.
Home is always changing. But home will always be good.
What does your home feel like?
As my mother returned from a long afternoon of work, traffic, and taking my youngest brother to driver’s training, she breathed the heaviest sigh I’ve heard in a long time. “You okay?” I asked her from the other room (I myself felt a little guilty having had the day off). She quickly answered, “Yes… I am just happy to be home.” I smiled and felt myself burrow deeper into the couch and novel I had just started. And in that moment I felt a wave of emotion. The feeling of home.
I felt relief. I felt gratitude. I felt comfort. Being able to take off your soaked winter jacket, hat, gloves, and retreat into your sacred family space. Home feels like all the good things in the world.
It feels like the building anticipation of hot water boiling for your third cup of tea. A scurrying of feet back to your warmed spot and pages begged to be read.
Home feels like the release of tears to a friend who truly understands the season you’re trying to figure out. Like Lord Huron’s song Ends of the Earth. Like dim lighting and music that grooves into the air. It feels like a friend’s fire place and whisper conversations that echo loudly into your heart. Home feels like everything is going to be okay. Home is hope. Home is a loud Sunday afternoon of board games and dining rooms crowed with sibling laughter. Home is going to hipster bars just you can dance to good music. Home is pieces of your puzzled life that fit together one by one. Home is breathing and going 3 miles per hour. Home is breaking the speed limit. Home is remembering the longings that are filled. Home is finding old photos of a pudgy young child and a beautiful ageless mother. Home is a walk to feel the fresh air. Home is crazy and home is a dream. Home is a gift, a treasure. Something to be shared. Something to give. Home is listening and not speaking. Home is yelling in the car to songs that make you feel free. Home is the sun. Home is the stranger who became a friend.
Home is always changing. But home will always be good.
What does your home feel like?