mamamusings

show me the way to go home

As a child, I had a luxury that many people don’t have…we moved into a house when I was four that I lived in until I went to college—and that my father still occupies. During the more tumultuous periods of my life, I found that having a stable place to call home made a huge difference. When my parents divorced, everyone else in my family changed houses at least once; my father moved out until my mother remarried, upon which she and my sister moved to Rochester and my father moved back in. My mom points out that not even the location of my furniture moved during that time.

Having a physical space that I can claim as my own has remained important to me. I don’t think I realized how important until this month, which we’re spending without any place to call our own. The boat would probably be great if this were simply a vacation from our usual home, but knowing there’s nowhere else to call home makes it feel less like a retreat and more like an exile. Things that don’t usually bother me when I’m traveling—living out of a suitcase, eating out a lot, not having a familiar space to sit and work—are making me miserable here. We’ve got several generous offers to stay with friends in Seattle, but that won’t really address the underlying discomfort with not being on familiar ground.

It’s not as bad when we’re out and about—visiting parks and exploring local towns. But when we’re sitting around the boat on a gray day like today (or yesterday, or tomorrow…it’s not shaping up to be a great week) I feel trapped and uncomfortable and unhappy.

I’d be sorely tempted to bail on the conference I’m speaking at next week and head straight back to Rochester immediately, but our tenants are in our house until August 1, so I’m stuck in this in-between state for another 3 weeks. In the meantime, I’m hoping the funk I’m in is temporary, and will lift when we’re back in our house again next month.

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