Home Is Where the Heart Is

I sat in the Trader Joe's parking lot in Princeton at six o'clock this evening, thinking about how surreal my life feels.

I woke up this morning in Chicago. 

I spent the last three nights in a hotel where, when I looked out the windows, all I could see were the grids of high-rise buildings. I had to look up high-rise to make sure I wrote it correctly. I happened to notice the definition and its sent me down the rabbit hole, as words often do.

A building with many stories.

That just about sums it up for me. The trip to visit my daughter was phenomenal. And it feels strange to be here again. Home. I opened something up around that while writing yesterday morning. Its explorations will wind through my journal over time, not in a blog post in an hour.

But I will share now that it reminds me of a poem I wrote, Juicy Bing Cherry Moment. It's in the collection that is laboring now to be released with the publishing company in the throes of a merger. 

Here's part of it -

Pointing to something'

About me

It wants 

To be brought out

And begins to tell a story

Comes to a moment

And holds it up

You look at it

And it leaves you

To find your way

Out

Or not

And you can end up 

Holding that moment forever

Somewhere deep inside 

I wrote this while I was in the middle of a divorce, understanding that the decision meant the break up not just of a marriage, but also a life, and a home. At the time I did not understand where all of that would take me, the impossible journey I could not avoid. A journey I am still on these many years later, I find. 

My daughter woke up a few minutes later and we had our last, awkward good-byes. Southwest canceled my two o'clock flight and I had to rush to be able to get the re-booked 11:35 am flight. That was not how I wanted our leave-taking to be. There was more to say. More to tell. More to hear. More to share. The trip was short and each moment was precious. 

Somehow I felt cheated by that flight cancellation. 

I probably did not need to say that. For you to understand it. And, yet, I did have to say it. For me to understand it. There are so many small and large things in life that are beyond our control and take from us what we have planned and hoped for. Sometimes they give to us something we do not expect and that feels like a gift.  

I smell the fragrant fresh tarragon that seasons the chicken and potatoes roasting in the oven. I've pulled it out and squeezed lemon over the top to finish the dish and let it sit while the asparagus cook on top of the stove. I've made chicken in honor of the beautiful and delicious meal my daughter prepared for me last night, when we took the train out to see her apartment and spend the evening with her fiance before traveling back to spend our last night together. 

I probably don't need to journal much to discover that home is where my children are. Trying to figure out what that means in light of their being adults and my not having the home they grew up in any longer will take me longer. 






The Summer of Self-Love is a daily writing practice created to harness three months for thriving. The goal at the end is to host a dinner party. Sounds like an odd Hero's Journey, doesn't it? Most of them usually are.


excerpt from Juicy Bing Cherry Moment (c) 2012, Katherine Cartwright