Home is where the heart is.
Home is Dallas, TX.
Home is Iowa, where I’m from.
Home this month is a Honda Fit.
As my ‘girls weekend’ comes to a close, I’m sitting in a friend’s kitchen while he cooks and feeling so at home. But it leads me to wonder when am I home; where am I home?
Memory is important. Remembering the people who were once whole fractions of our hearts is how we stay rooted. But how we move on when those people are no longer a block away or down the hall is how we build our character. Who we are together, makes us who we are apart.
It’s not often you get to laugh at the same things twice, nonetheless for infinity. Come Friday night, there we were – different living room floor, different time, same us. We even looked exactly the same despite that certain quality, time passing in our eyes.
Convinced the fondest of memories rested at the bottom of the bottle, we took turns sipping on nostalgia and getting drunk off shared experiences. I’m convinced our time apart served us solely to share stories that night. Age was on our side for once – we had opinions about things other than our peers, thoughts on what comes next and even after that, and a looming understanding that the three people existing in that room would be forever changed by the next phase of life. Every cup brought us a sip closer together.
What if we hadn’t kept in touch? What if we didn’t follow our hearts?
These nights are the ones worth waiting for. The kind where the perfect song plays on shuffle and the temperature is just right enough to have the windows down.
You never realize how young you were until you’re older, but we were young and old at the same time that night. Time only passed in laughter and meaningful words which is how it’s supposed to be. The purest palpable energy, the most honest of emotions, and the most effortless wave of conversation all wrapped up in our perfect present.
So maybe I’m not home, or always home. Maybe nostalgia is just a jerk. But we were there, finding the lost and creating memories for the next time. The next living room floor, the next rendition of us, at home.