La la la linoleum.

The decision to go to McAfee was a relatively easy one. I checked out two other schools, visited one, and at each step came to the same conclusion: I just felt at home in Atlanta. I wasn't sure what that meant exactly, except I knew I felt like I'd already been there, already knew the people, and could take my shoes off and cartwheel in the hallways (which I did. Often). During those three years Atlanta and McAfee continued to burrow in my heart as the most homey place I'd ever called home.

Home should feel this way

And then I graduated, people moved, and everything changed. I no longer felt at home - anywhere.

I had never really reflected on just what the concept of home meant to me - how much it meant to me or how deeply I seek and try to create it wherever I am - until coming to and graduating from seminary. Home for me means emotional and physical safety, a place where you can be totally yourself, whatever or whoever that is at any particular moment. Where that is affirmed and loved. A place where burdens and joys are shared. Where things are...lived in. Whether or not that's what I experienced growing up, that's home for me. It's what I want my home to be, wherever I am.

The first tree I've
bought myself

Now I'm having to rebuild and create a new home - in physical terms, as well as emotionally. It's been nearly four months since I moved into my new apartment and my new job. It still isn't completely home, but I think things are getting okay-er. The physical part is basically together - things are hung on walls and I have a place for most everything (and most everything is in its place). I like the Christmas tree I picked out and decorated, and I like sitting on the couch with the Christmas lights on while I read Harry Potter. I'm settling in with my roommate, who is a sweet and kind (if not a little absent-minded) gem. I'm getting to know the people at work, enough to joke around with them and commiserate about the more challenging patients. The emotional parts are coming along, too, albeit a little more slowly. I'm learning to be my own safe foundation and to care for that as I care for my tangible home (which, considering the mound of dishes in the sink, is still a work in progress).