On, Home

I was sitting alone in the bar with the smoothest glass of Cabernet Sauvignon, completely quiet, alone, watching the way the other couplings were not speaking to each other. I was waiting on them to meet me & though I had the plans of them, it felt really good to be alone & still. They came, which was a comfort, though the whole while I was wondering how long I could last before I'd like to be alone again. Great to be sociable & have relationships, but they feel more like fillers to the moments when I can crawl into a plush bed, read a book, drink a glass of wine, watch bad tv, write, and live in the moment of me.

Having something feel like home can be a process or sometimes it's just there waiting from the start. It's not just about what you've set up for yourself, where, when, etc. I've always been extremely flexible in moving, in creating a home out of various settings. Of course, at some, there comes a time when you can admit to yourself, "This really isn't it." It could be about the people, the lighting, the way you placed your furniture, how you feel when you drive up to it, when you leave. In my many moves, I've had 3 that tug at me with a gnawing comfort, air of "homey." One of those was my last place in Boulder. It felt really good, like a place I could be for more than the flitting of yearly moves. So when I moved back to Bellingham, I wasn't sure I could ever be content with a departure from it. I'm still not sure, but am grateful to have found comfort in a spot I didn't think I could. I love to be proven wrong. I love the feeling of "home" in unexpected places. It's not exactly what I chose, what I wanted, what I want, but that I feel a comfort from it at all makes me feel as if I am one malleable son of a bitch.

I continue to fall asleep to tutorials, hungry to learn. If the whole 10,000 hours thing is true, I'm working my way toward it. I haven't been inspired to write, which I don't push. I enjoy being able to spend so much time outside in Washington with this outburst of delicious weather. I love being a bartender of sorts, it's really opened me up sociably. I love drinking ESB's at Boundary with my cousin, really crave dancing, totally awkward, wholehearted dancing. I love how the owner of the bar & I & the staff can all say, "I wish I were lesbian!" And how it means the same thing to us. I like that my friends show me how much they love me every day. I like that I got Trista to run 3 miles for the first time in years. I like that I'm reconnecting with old friends & we're planning modeling shoots for Etsy, and weekend trips to Portland. That I got to see my Alaska relatives last night for a salmon bake & fruit pie & wine. I like wearing all the clothes from my closet. I like hanging out with my mom, who is ever-gardening while drinking O-Doul's. I guess I used to feel like my home was a person. And in substitute, all of these have tried to fill the loss. To feel at home is a hard place to find. If you feel it & you feel it real good, I'd suggest not letting go.