Love Comes Home to Me

Summary

The text reflects on the concept of "home" as an emotional and intangible experience rather than a physical place with a fixed address.

Abstract

The author of the text muses on the evolution of their understanding of "home," initially perceiving it as a physical structure with tangible attributes—a place with an address, walls, windows, and a garden. However, the narrative transitions to a deeper realization that home is not confined to these material aspects. Instead, it is found within the love one feels, the experiences one has, and the internal sense of belonging that travels with the individual. Home is described as a love that one carries within, transcending borders and physical boundaries, and is present in both familiar and new environments, as well as in relationships. The text concludes by affirming that home is an ever-present state of being, rooted in love and personal identity, rather than a static location.

Opinions

The author initially believed home to be synonymous with a physical dwelling, complete with domestic comforts and a sense of ownership.
Home is redefined as a feeling that is not tied to a specific geographic location but is instead carried within the heart.
The concept of home is associated with the ability to love deeply and the experiences shared with loved ones.
The text suggests that the true essence of home is found in emotional connections and personal growth, rather than in material possessions or a fixed structure.
The author emphasizes the freedom and expansiveness of home as a concept that encompasses the world and one's place within it.

What if Home Didn’t Have an Address?

I thought home was a place on a map labeled Mine, an address you could return to any time, a deed in hand, where you get your post, and the place where you would want to be the most.

Home was walls and wide windows, a car parked outside, a hearth in the home to warm ourselves beside, a kitchen island large enough for baking, a big tree with bright leaves meant for leaf piles and fall raking, a bath to sink into at the end of a long day, and a garden large enough for the children (and dog we don’t yet have) to play.

It had a welcome mat waiting, a wreath on the door. Home is a place I’ve been longing for. A place I could write, and a place I could dream Home is still this, but also none of these things.

It’s deep in my love, every day I feel more. Home is a place I’ve been longing for. No borders, no walls, no doors, no address. No keys and no mat and no closet to dress.

It boards airplanes, checks bags, crosses the seas. Home is a place that I carry in me. On a trail to the sea, in a dark wooded glen. To places I’ve seen and places I’ve never been. In loves that I’ve known and loves that are new. Home is inside me, and it’s always been true.

It’s the love in my heart and the smile on my lips. It’s in the place that’s a house and on all of my trips. Home is a wide world that welcomes me each day. It’s a house and a love and a globe I can point to and say: That’s mine.

Home is in me, and I’m home all the time.

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Love Comes Home to Me

What if Home Didn’t Have an Address?

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