It's 1:00 am.
And I can't sleep.
I know I usually post first thing in the morning, and only once a day, but here I am. Drifting between web pages, I find that the quiet of the living room is the comfort that I didn't seek. In a bedroom down the hallway is my Mr. Y, sticky from a bout of impromptu late-night loving, this incredible gift he has at being able to initiate and waking up halfway through in an act he calls "waking up having sex". And then he curls one arm around himself and one hand around my face and goes back to sleep.
But I can't sleep, and I am not sure why.
There is a bottle of wine I have in the cupboard, a bottle of white wine that I bought in Greece, on a little island called Naxos. This island is tiny and is only known for its wine, and the one special power that its wine has-according to the legend it can help heal a broken heart. I am not sure what possessed me to buy it two years ago but I knew that I could possibly want that venture someday. I knew that I would maybe want or need to have that white wine assistance, that value for the downtrodden. I bought it and carried it around with me in a backpack like a student packer, took it back to Sweden and now carried it over to England with me.
Mr. Y asked me earlier if he should dump the wine out, and I thought about it.
"No." I replied, my legs curled under me and the last of the day's sun coming in. "I may still need it someday."
"Why?" He asked, looking closely at me, bouncing in the rocking chair.
"Maybe someday you break up with me." I reply.
"But I have no plans to do so." He counters. "So why do you need the wine?"
I can tell that my words are being watched and measured. I can tell that I may be walking into a dangerous situation. All I know is-maybe someday I will need that wine. If you ask me honestly, I will tell you that I don't think we'll break-up. But a break-up with Mr. Y would be the break-up that I couldn't get over. And if I don't need the wine (and I truly think and hope I never will), then maybe I can pass it on to someone who does. By then maybe it will be old with age, like vinegar, something horrible. But maybe in the uncorking, the local legend will live, and a broken heart can be healed.
A little superstition can go a long way.
In terms of home, I find myself more and more adrift. I am officially divorced and half of my meager belongings are about to be moved into storage. The other belongings were taken to the tip by X Partner Unit, to be chewed down and mawed into something that has no claim to me anymore. My home is not in Sweden anymore, and I know that. I only wonder how long it will take before the Swedish begins to seep from my brain, no longer at my command for a shop exchange, a conversation, an Ingmar Bergmann film.
When I go back to the U.S. for holidays, I find that isn't home anymore either. I never lived in the house that my mother lives in. It was never mine. The bookshelves are filled with old books that I know of and new ones I don't. Furniture is spontaneously birthed in my absence, living situations change, and from time to time there is a new cat pouncing down the stairs, one which does not know me. The Dallas house I lived in with Kim is gone, as is the house I lived in alone. And although that's one place that I know how to do the logistics-hook up the electricity, order a weekend delivery of the newspaper, sign up for night school-I do not feel that Dallas is my home anymore. Which begs the question-is there anywhere in the U.S. that is my home now?
To which I honestly look into the mirror, into my weird and skitsy eyes, and say to the glass: I don't know.
And now I am moving into a new place with Mr. Y, a place that we will be renting for 6 months, a year. A place that we have to buy everything new for, as our previous lives and recycling bins claim what we have left behind. And because this place is just a resting place until we can decide where we want to live, where we want to work, what we want to be when we grow up, Mr. Y is not so eager to view it as his home, especially since we won't actually be owning the place. He has one leg in England, his mother country, and one leg in Sweden, where his children are, and I understand this and wish I could help him.
I am reluctant to say it, to label myself some kind of needy creature, but I think I view home as wherever he is. But I feel a bit that's not reciprocated due to the situation with renting and with his kids, which again I do understand, and so I draw the words back in, eager to prevent myself throwing too many cards on the table, reluctant to go a step further than the step he has taken.
Sometimes I feel like I am in a snow globe that is being perpetually shaken.
Right now, I really need a place to think of as home. For the first time in my life, I don't want to move around and ping off the boundaries of cities, states, and countries. I want to hold still, for just a minute. I want to belong to somewhere, not just to someone. I don't know if England is where I am going to be forever, but right now I need it to be where I am, to prove to myself that I am not crazy, to find a safe harbor where I can call home, where I can understand things, where I can seek shelter from the fucking hurricane that is my life and just enjoy a breeze with a man that I honestly love, a man who is holding the ropes that moor me to the dock and won't let them go.
-H.
Posted by Everydaystranger at May 24, 2004 01:14 AM | TrackBackI know exactly what you mean. I think when you are trying to find yourself you have to get away from what and where you previously were.
Honestly I am travelling to find myself and "grow" myself, but at teh same time I am a homebody and the moving and uprooting EVERYTHING every 3-4 months is tearing at me.
I want a home but I am coming more and more to terms with the notion that home is where ever I decide I want it to be or that I am.
Posted by: stinkerbell at May 26, 2004 11:36 AMi don't think that's a strange need at all. i can definitely relate to the need to feel like you belong somewhere. it grounds you and lets you stretch yourself in other ways.
Posted by: kat at May 24, 2004 07:09 PMHome is where you feel comfortable - where your heart tells you that you belong.
Oh yeah, and maybe being in the snowglobe isn't a bad thing...
Posted by: Tami at May 24, 2004 03:55 PMAt least you have someone...
Posted by: pylorns at May 24, 2004 03:37 PMMy denotation of "home" is: where one grew up or where one currently dwells. That may not align exactly with Webster, but it's probably close. My connotation of "home" is: the place where I'm safe and/or familiar. Even though I'm at home where ever my family is, I suppose I still associate it with a place (I combine the two definitions).
I agree with Croxie in that "contentment" is the key. You can live someplace for 10 years and it still not be "home". Or you can move to a new city and immediately feel like you're "home". Discontentment breeds unrest, but contentment breeds peace and a feeling of "home".
Posted by: Solomon at May 24, 2004 02:21 PMYour heart can break in so many other ways than just being dumped. Keep the wine.
Posted by: Existentialwolf at May 24, 2004 01:45 PMYou need to find "home" within yourself, Helen...that's the trick and that is what can be so difficult. Home used to be where I had my belongings, but even the belongings have been spreaded out over the planet so that's not an achor either.
It's more about feeling content since you can never move away from what's been...but you already know that. It's also about daring to let go and trust that things are what they seems to be.
Look who's talking...hahah
Anyways...I can't tell you what to do and what you need...only share what I know from myself and my own experiences. Moving used to be a lot easier when I was younger...today it's more difficult to adjust to changes. Old dogs ya know ;)
As for the language...if you want to keep it alive do what I do and keep in touch with people back there. I talk to my son on a regular basis, friends and my sis to keep it fresh...otherwise I know that I will lose it quickly and I won't have a native language anymore.
I can always bug you with Swedish emails if that would help? *grin*
Posted by: croxie at May 24, 2004 12:33 PMI've moved around quite a bit, though always within the U.S. My friends have always been home to me, especially my best friend. She grounded me.
When I met my husband that was it; at last I had a permanent home.
We've moved 7 times in 11 years of marriage, but it's fine with me. Wherever he goes; that's my home.
I love Donna's idea, too! ;)
If home is with him, does it matter if he's not thinking of Whitney Houston as home?
You can make it a home. And maybe he'll come to feel like it's his home too.
After all, he'll be there :)
My heart goes out to you, Helen. I can still remember that feeling, that hoping. I wanted a home too. I lived 4 places in 4 years with my anthropologist boyfriend, and even though I was just a stupid girl then and not a smart sassy career woman like you, I felt the same need.
The best thing I ever did was buy this house for myself -- even though at the time I wasn't buying this house for me, it's just turning out that way. But where my place is empty of love with potential, your place isn't. You'll always have that with Mr. Y. Together you guys will make some wonderful house an even more wonderful home.
Posted by: Layne at May 24, 2004 11:23 AMRandom-I guess I don't feel at home yet since he doesn't feel at home. I want to anchor myself somewhere, but I need my anchor to be certain of their placing, too. He doesn't feel like he's home, and so how can I?
Maybe I am just making too big a deal out of this. Weird that after my former bohemian lifestyle-moving from flat to flat, city to city, and now country to country, I just want to hold still and think of somewhere as home, no matter how temporarily.
Posted by: Helen at May 24, 2004 11:20 AMI've moved alot, and I've found that wherever I've moved, when I unpack and put my books on shelves, then it is home.
When you get into this new place, make a small part of it your sanctuary. Buy a comfy chair, surround yourself with things you love, make it your small peaceful oasis. In this place, do not have discussions, make love, argue or do anything but be alone and calm and quiet. When you get your cats, sit and have some snuggle time.
Put up pictures you love, family photos, photos of people you love, make yourself a miniature zen garden to play with. Add a fountain, and plants, a few candles, and voila, you have home. And any time you move, you move this room first. And set it up again exactly as it is this time.
Home will always be with you, and feelings travel well.....
First, I like your new picture. Second, if you love him, and you are building a new life together, do you feel at home yet? You seemed to address the issue of your feeling at home in the conditional. What condition hasn't been met yet for you to feel at home with him, putting aside all the issues about feeling normal in a new culture and not speaking Swedish in the chemists?
Also, I love the new picture.
Posted by: Random Penseur at May 24, 2004 11:01 AMGive it some time. I've been moving around the globe a lot of times and in the end I forgot both where I came from and where I was going. It's like having a date with your own tail in many ways.
Today I'm settled down here in the UK, still need to bring my things over, but it feels good and I don't have the need to be anywhere else. There are differences here that I like if you compare it to Sweden or US...and everything is a bit in between those two places. It suits me perfectly :)
The word "home" has a nice ring to it and if I can find it, so can you. Home, hope and happiness...they all go hand in hand...it's "just" a matter of letting go of the fears of being hurt and enjoy it.
Life is what happens while we make other plans, ya know....;)
I think Home is in the Heart. Wherever heartfelt tendencies lead, that's the place.
So often do I closely peruse transients pondering the downfalls endured within their lifetimes never to find their own Home.
Posted by: Curator at May 24, 2004 09:25 AMDon't feel bad. It's endemic to the age. Modern "flexible work" demands you go where the work is, uproot every few years, go to Sweden, Hong Kong, Perth, wherever. You're not supposed to have feelings; You're a unit y'know.
You probably have enough experience now to go into business for yourself. Just thought I'd throw that one in.
Don't forget the babe/s. Only give them /him/her up for very worthwhile goals, like retraining as a chemist and discovering the cure for herpes. Otherwise, have'em. Babes really make you put down roots. And make real friends.
I'm glad to see from your latest photo that you're a broadsheet reader!
Posted by: Helen at May 24, 2004 09:21 AMHome can be in so many places and sometimes where you least expect it. A cafe. A park. Your car with the radio blasting. Your bed, no matter what dwelling it may reside in. In your loved ones arms. In the mirror.
Posted by: emily at May 24, 2004 05:01 AMIt can be hard in a new place feeling like you can and want to put down roots. England is my birthplace if not my home right now, so take my birthright and claim a space for yourself!
Stephen
Posted by: Stephen at May 24, 2004 02:18 AMHelen,
I know exactly how you feel, and it's not a bad thing. Home, for me, is wherever Leslie and the kids are. It doesn't matter if it would be here, Sweden, Texas, or Middle-of-Nowhere Wisconsin. If they're there, it's fine by me.
It's called love.
Posted by: Jiminy at May 24, 2004 02:06 AMNo matter where you lay your head Munuvia will always be home in a way.
Sleep well, little flame.
Posted by: Paul at May 24, 2004 01:53 AM