Last weekend, I had my family over for a Mother's Day lunch. It wasn't a monumental day in the grand scheme of things. For me, though, it was a very special day.
Traveling and living in other places was an awesome experience, to say the least. But, even in the awe of new tastes, experiences, friends, cultures, etc, all I ever wanted was a place to call "home." No matter how many pictures I hung or homecooked meals that permeated the walls of the places I inhabited, no location I lived ever came close to the warmth and comfort of my childhood home.
So, one can imagine my surprise when I moved back to Chicago and felt like more of an outsider in the city of my youth and my parent's home than I did in Utah or even the ghetto. How could this have happened? Isn't this the place I longed for during years of, at times, extremely lonely travel?
Okay, granted I was 26 and living with my parents and had a rather, umm, "humble" amount of money in the bank; which was not how I envisioned myself at this point. I also had no idea what I wanted to be when I "grew up" and there were a lot of challenges happening with my family, at this time. ("Challenges" that opened up whole new levels of joy.) So, all I actually wanted was a one way ticket out of there. No offense to the "50 and over crowd", Mom and Dad.
I learned "home" was not crawling back to the womb. My parents house would always be a place of love, comfort, and belonging, but it no longer felt right to set up camp there. Home needed to be a place I created for myself. Home, for me, could no longer be built on a transient foundation. A true home was not a place of temporary stay. Home was something I was going make in my heart and in mind. My "home" would endure with me, even in times when I would get restless and have an overwhelming desire to flee.
I've known that I always wanted this crazy, cold, huge, lively, beautiful, quirky city of Chicago to be my home. The challenge was to redefine what I needed from this new home. Because the needs I had as a young girl of eighteen when I left the first time simply no longer applied.
So I can finally say, after almost exactly two years after I moved back to Chicago, I officially have a home. I have a home! I have a place that isn't just in my heart or in memories. I have a physical place that gives me a sense of safety in this chaotic world. I have matching plates and glasses. I have large scale artwork. I have bed linens and a dining room table. Hell, thanks to Sean, we have a flat screen TV. I've really moved up in the world!
I am not valuing these things because our materialistic society says that these are things that I need. These are simply signs of making a commitment and an investment to a place I love. Painting the walls and adding special touches show that Sean and I love where we live. I have a refuge where I belong. I have four walls that are filled with memories and love.
I shared my special abode with my family for the first time on Mother's Day. It felt very special to be able to have them over (even if we were just eating turkey sandwiches.) I lit candles. Sean and I cleaned everything spotless. There were appetizers involved. It all felt very "adult."
I'm starting to think maybe growing up ain't so bad because I am truly grateful right now to be close to my family and, at the same time, have my own life and a beautiful home in this grand city of Chicago!
I haven't felt torturous separation anxiety by having to put down a book that I was really into in quite some time. That is, until I read Running with Scissors! I guess I am behind the times on this one because all of my favorite reader friends responded with a big "duh" when I told them how enamored I was with this book. But, I am still going to give it a glowing post.
. . .to go rent "Once"! 
Literally! Check out http://www.chrisjordan.com/. His work is so powerful. I was equally awed and aghast at his exhibit, "Running the Numbers: An American Self-Portrait."
