Walls
“But you must understand that there are many ways of “being” in a place.” -St. Teresa of Avila
To balance out the times of monotony that I have traversed while living and working from home, the process of selling this house for the past six weeks has been anything but dull. Stressful, emotional, exhausting, confusing, time consuming. I have spent more time talking to a realtor than close relatives and friends. I have spent more time working on my house than working at home in order to prepare it for the next owner, the next resident, all while daydreaming about a new house that I have yet to call home. Part of me wonders if the economic hoops, emotional strain and long duration of this process are secretly intentional to make us pause and realize the gravity of what a home is and what a home can be.
The strange part is as more things come off the walls and more items are hidden in boxes the question of “What is my home?” becomes harder to answer. It clearly is more than the decorations or personal effects that I have scattered around the house. Many of those possessions have been packed for weeks. It is also clearly more than the furniture and fixtures occupying each room. Some of these have been sold, some will be left behind and others will be repurposed in our next house. It can’t be the small items that I (for some reason) need to keep accessible at all times and pack at the last minute; because when I consider these things I realize that they have more to say about me and less to say about my home. The first honest answer I want to give is that my home is the people I share it with. But that landscape is more malleable than it first appears. Does a home become more my home because my wife and I welcomed a third child into the house? Does a home become less my home when my children eventually grow up and move out? Likewise, I think of friends that I have who live alone and when I visit their residence it feels as much like a home as my own.
Put another way, I typically have trouble answering the question of where I am from. I used to say Oregon, for that is where I grew up and lived for about half my life, but I haven’t lived there for over a decade now. Right now it is tempting to say Texas, but when the summer evenings aren't cool enough for me to open the windows and hear the breeze as day slowly turns into night my body feels disoriented. As before, it is more than both of these. And the need to erect walls between this place and that place makes home much smaller than it is meant to be. Walls (for me) this past month have been made up of wood, nails and drywall. And while they helped define where my bedroom stopped and the kitchen started they will ultimately be repatched, repainted and left behind. For they are not really a part of my home. What I will be able to carry with me to the next house (the movers will carry the rest) is the ability to reside -- “to sit down, settle; rest, linger;”.
This invitation to reside is always available, as is the opportunity to feel at home. A residence may be where you sleep, where your mail is delivered and a space that you’re allowed to say who can enter and who cannot. But to reside in a home is to rest, to welcome in the unexpected life that is birthing each day and to filter out all the noise that is too trivial for you. Walls may be important at first; to define who you are, where you come from or what you believe. But you are much more than these definitions. Your home is much more than those walls.
May you have to the freedom to come home to yourself and reside in your being uninhibited by the boxes piled around you. May you have the courage to thank the walls for how they have protected and sheltered you in the past, but have the liberty to embrace the open concept that awaits. And may you, my friend, remember that you are much more and that you can always be at home.