temporary home


On the weekend, when I was struggling with panic over my broken-down car, one of the greatest fears that kept rising up was losing my home. I rent a lovely apartment in a quiet, century neighbourhood. I love living alone. I love this place where I find myself. I love the beautiful and useful objects that surround me. I love the flow of my days. I would hate to have to give all of that up.

As all of these thoughts and impressions were whirling in my mind, I couldn’t help noticing how fiercely I was clinging to the dream of this apartment. Because truly, it’s just a place. There’s nothing special about it, other than I make or believe it so. I could be happy any number of places. I could pick up and leave tomorrow – with nothing, if it came to that – and still land on my feet, and be okay. I know that in my heart. And yet… and yet…

And yet the fearful part of me doesn’t want to release its death grip on THIS PARTICULAR PLACE, this unique situation. And so I spent many hours this weekend talking myself down off a figurative ledge – trying to make myself okay with uncertainty, and change. Trying to convince myself that joy, and peace, and love, and beauty can all be found in this moment, regardless of where this moment happens.

And since then, I’ve been trying to bring myself to a right relationship – or maybe it would be truer to say “righter” relationship – with my home. And I’ve been pouring my love into the breathing spaces in each day. Noticing the things that I love, without grasping. Appreciating the wealth around me, without longing or yearning. Drinking in my home with my eyes, and my ears, and my hands, and my bare feet, and my nose… without glutting and sickening myself.

This is a photograph of my pantry. I took it Monday night, when the light was shining just right, and one of the cats was sighing on the kitchen table. This pantry represents everything I love about my home that is impermanent. Containers are filled, and emptied. Things are shuffled around, and removed, and replaced. Truly, this pantry is just a temporary holding area for my living. And so is my home…

Do you love your home? Enough? Too much? Too little? Are you impatiently waiting to leave it behind? Or fearfully hoping it will hold you forever?