Moondance by Goodwin
I’ve been a homebody for as long as I can remember. I grew up with two sisters, and on weekends our parents would find us spending time with each other before leaving the house to be with childhood friends. We each had our own room in the home we spent most of our childhood, but we shared a fourth room where our movies, piano, and games lived. My little sister and I would spend hours choreographing gymnastics routines, and my older sister and I would begrudgingly practice piano no longer than absolutely necessary. The easiest way to find contentment, it seemed, was to stay home and spend those precious weekend days with each other.
The same was true in college, and the same is true today. Home is the place I feel most at ease, the place I feel safest. It is the place I can be hidden without feeling like I’m hiding. Those close to me oftentimes hear me say phrases similar to: “I’m so glad to be home!”
“We aren’t leaving the couch this weekend!”
“We’re staying home all day.”
Home means many things to me. It currently means being with Jared, Jones, and Albert. It means all four of us are on our couch. It’s before noon, and there are no plans pulling us away. A Netflix original is on. (Right now, it’s Narcos.) A new candle is burning. (Right now, it’s Moondance by Goodwin.) Of course, the candle is out of reach from both Jones and Albert. I remind myself to blow it out before too long because I don’t want the entire candle to turn into gaseous particles in less than a week. The sound of clothes tumbling in the dryer is detectable, but neither Jared nor I feel much pressure to fold them as soon as we hear the beep of a completed cycle. We’re ever-so-slightly tired. One of us hasn’t brushed our teeth yet. We’re drinking our coffee slowly, so slowly that it becomes room temperature before the cup is dry. Sun rays are beginning to pour in, and the house smells like a combination the aforementioned candle and a caffeine-laden aroma. We’re home, and it’s exactly where we want to be.
Of course, I oftentimes wonder if being home is more akin an emotion or a feeling–rather than a physical setting. Perhaps it is both.
Home will soon mean being in Ohio with family and close friends. It will mean celebrating the marriage of a best friend and college roommate instead of lounging on our couch. It will mean sharing a Thanksgiving meal in the country instead of slowly drinking our coffee. It will mean detecting the smell of my grandmother’s perfume instead of a new candle. Soon, the feeling of home will change for a short time–before evolving further and further–for as long as we allow.