A Place To Call Home

Like many people, my first house was a Project - from top to bottom with a capital P. I was young, eager to stop spending money on rent, and had watched one too many shows on HGTV. They make everything look so easy, don't they?

My husband and I spent 8 years slowly renovating our first house. We were living off of one income, and I was in graduate school so I was pretty much spending it as fast as he was making it. Most of the projects were DIY and on a tight budget. We painted, tiled, replaced fixtures, scraped off the popcorn ceiling, and the list goes on. The first day we moved in, we turned on the water at the street only to discover a gushing leak from an outdoor spigot. That's when we bought our first plumber's wrench.

Then, early on, we replaced the guest toilet - it wasn't flushing well and even after using a snake, we couldn't figure out why the pressure was so weak. Anyway, my husband was helping a friend with another home renovation and while throwing away the old plumbing fixtures into a rented construction dumpster, he stopped his friend literally mid-swing to save a brand new toilet that was being tossed because it didn't match the others. We loaded it up in a Honda Element and drove home - picture me in the back holding the toilet upright while holding my nose. I scrubbed the hell out of it just before I threw my back out lifting it. When my husband installed it, he discovered a pair of child's goggles lodged in the drain where the old toilet met the tile.

My husband and I grew a lot, and together we experienced many firsts as we blindly navigated first-time home ownership through a combination of YouTube, frequent trips to Lowes, faint memories of shop class, and the sheer willpower and energy of being 20-somethings with no choice but to keep moving forward. I wouldn't do it over again, but I feel a great sense of pride in what we were able to accomplish and in the memories we made. We were even married in a very small ceremony right there in our house - our first house.

---

In 2014, I got some bad news that my job was being relocated to another city. Not without complaint or resistance, we spent another year in our home, completing needed repairs and getting it ready to sell. And then in 2015 - almost three years ago to the day - we moved. It was a chaotic few weeks leading up to the move and there wasn't much time for reflection. But before we locked the doors behind us, my husband turned me around and said - take one more look; this is where we got married - and we spent a few minutes reminiscing together in silence.

I pulled into the driveway of my new home, exhausted but wired. Slowly, the boxes started disappearing. And eventually, we fell into a new routine that involved less home renovation, more access to the beach and concerts, and unfortunately a lot more driving. And everyone wanted to know, "How do you like it here?"

I did not like it here. Maybe I'm just slow to adapt to change, or maybe the move was too connected with feelings of resentment related to the job relocation. I felt unsettled, even though I was going to a lot of concerts and happy hours, and saw a lot more of my family who now live close by. The house wasn't right, the people weren't right, the routines weren't right, you get the idea. Mostly, it didn't feel like home.

So what makes a place feel like a home?

I suspect that the feeling of home has a lot to do with the comfort, familiarity, and the positive associations we make in a given place. The truth is that I really don't have an answer. At least not a universal one. I gave it time, as we do when we wait for trials to pass. But more than that, I filled my spaces with old familiar objects, like framed photos, as well as things that will propel me further toward my goals, like a big table where family and friends can gather. I filled my social life with people, places, and events that have now accumulated into a wealth of awesomely memorable moments. I filled my time with hobbies. Some were old, like music. But I also picked up new interests that are now associated with this latest chapter of my life.

At some point this summer, I came to the realization that the discomfort of change has finally passed, and after three very long years, I do feel very much at home. I love my new house - for the new lessons it's taught me, the new memories it's made me, and the new highs and lows of life that are experienced within its walls. Finally, I have a place to call home.