Home is Not Where The Heart Is

I recently moved and I’ve been thinking a lot about the idea of ‘home’.

As our lives change, we call lots of different places home. There are places we’ve never heard of that we might come to call home later on. There are places we used to call home that are now strange to us. Over the summer I moved back in with my parents and despite the familiarity of my childhood bedroom, I had the sense that I was supposed to be somewhere else.

During university, my school campus felt like home. Now I’m living in a basement apartment in the same city and it’s beginning to feel like home. Home moves around. It’s not an actual place but an attribute that we give. And the ability to make that attribution follows us wherever we go.

I guess home is really something that we carry around inside us and eventually project outside when we’re ready. Then when we move we take it with us. It does tend to drag a bit behind, though.

Now I’ll fight the temptation to end this update with a cheesy take on “home is where the heart is.” I don’t think that’s true. Home isn’t where the heart is, it’s something about the heart itself. But let me contrast this thought with another. There’s also a sense in which everywhere I go I feel like I’m not home. Christians are supposed to live “in the world, but not of it” with a sense that everything in this life is a prelude to something coming. A car is not a home but something that gets you home. This life is sort of a vehicle.

So I am both finding myself perpetually at home in one sense and perpetually in transit in another sense. On the one hand, that sounds like a contradiction. On the other hand, I might say that I like where I am and I like where I’m going.

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