"Turns out they were right again . . . if it's true home is where the heart is,
I guess now I'm homeless."
That lyric has been haunting me over the past two months. I have felt without a home for a while now. The transition from Augusta to Cedar Rapids - from Georgia to Iowa - will perhaps be complete when the last box is unpacked (that will take a while!) or maybe once I've been here a year of seasons or maybe there is some other definition of adjustment that I am not thinking of at the moment.
Change takes time. I was out of town this weekend, and when the thought of going home flashed across my mind, it was not Cedar Rapids that my mind called up, it was Augusta. I didn't realize it the first time, but the second time when discussing with my son when we would leave to go home, again, it was a flight image of Augusta that came to mind.
I start a new job tomorrow; when I think of that, an image of my old school grounds scampers through my mind. I consciously know that I will be working in a different setting at a different set of tasks, but my mind has an ingrained image of work as that old setting.
A quick review: I moved to Augusta to be married. When that reason no longer existed, I thought of leaving; however different reasons kept me in place. For a long time, I complained - even railed - about Augusta, Georgia, and the South. It was where I lived, but as location, I never thought of Augusta as home until this past weekend.
In fact, my friends in Augusta can tell you that I have talked about being an outsider or not at home there in varying degrees over the years. I probably mentioned it most in relation to lack of snow in the winter and high summer temperatures. Even having lived there fourteen years, when someone asked where I was from, I would say that I lived in Augusta, but I was from Iowa.
Everyone has moments in life when you just feel foreign. I had it when I first lived in the Soviet Union. The language, the culture, the KGB - it was all foreign. When I first moved to Augusta, I remember hearing a conversation between a bricklayer and another man; I could not understand one word they were saying. I asked what language they were speaking. English. Huh? I have a degree in linguistics and have studied languages for the past 25 years. I was in East Central Georgia, USA, and I could not understand the English being spoken.
It's not just language that will make you feel foreign. Customs, foods, pace of life, even time zones can play a role on whether people feel comfortable or at home. People choose their homes or move their homes or stay in their homes for so many reasons. Whether you have stayed in one place your whole life or moved multiple times, as I have, where, really is your home?
There is a host of aphorisms to define home. Where our story begins. There's no place like it. Where you can be yourself. Where we love. Where one starts from.
As I was packing and unpacking boxes and feeling homeless, I started thinking that my home is actually a patchwork. I have squares from childhood, college, and beyond. I'm just now realizing that, yes, Augusta is part - an integral part - of that patchwork of home. Places and people around Augusta will always be home.
My home is
Tara's patio on a breezy Sunday evening, the smells of Shishir's cooking wafting over us;
Liberty's winter solstice party;
the horses that used to run behind our house in Harlem;
Jamie's garage while he grills, Carrie makes her killer onion rings in the kitchen, and we all drink beer;
a chat with Jennifer in the hallway;
our book club with more wine and food than books;
Iris mowing her yard in the mid-day summer heat;
closing Monterrey's with Erin;
the classroom and office and auditorium at my old school;
boot camp and Tracy's "slower than pond water" shouts;
a tour of Franklin's most recent art acquisitions;
Christmas Eve brunch at Katie's;
the purgatorial Kroger parking lot;
appetizers and long talks in Jan's kitchen -
Augusta is part of my home.
I am most in agreement with Tad Williams on the concept of home: "Never make your home in a place. Make a home for yourself inside your own head. You'll find what you need to furnish it - memory, friends you can trust, love of learning, and other such things. That way it will go with you wherever you journey."
So, that song may need revision. Because, if home is where the heart is, I'm not homeless - I have homes everywhere, including with my loves in Augusta.
