I am in a new apartment. The last year has been tumultuous and fatiguing. Depending on the kindness of friends and family can be a gratifying and exhausting experience. I am immensely appreciative of that kindness but independence, while also tiring, can be enlivening.
My new home is modest by any standard. But this morning, I cooked for the first time. I made a simple cheese omelette. The spatula was bigger than the pan and it wasn’t a great result. But it was delicious because I made it at home and while I didn’t have the seasoning or tools I needed to make it just right, it was just right because I made it at home.
I stood outside in a storm and it was a little uncomfortable. But I could see the light on in my window, through the snow and the freezing rain, and I knew where I was returning to. I have yet to unpack everything but I already know where everything will go. My phone is charging, my computer is working, Raiders of the Lost Ark is on TV and I know I am where I belong. For the time-being.
There are things in the fridge and my toothbrush is on the sink counter and my shoes are where they should be.
Dorothy Gale and I have little in common. Except for the feeling that there’s no place like home. Wherever and whenever that feeling of home takes place.