Home and Getting There

Are We There Yet?

Home. We finally arrived.

The ultimate goal was accomplished: to discover or reveal what home means and get to that place.

Sometimes, when you’re away for a while and hitting multiple stops, every one of those destinations becomes ‘home.’ This is expressed in the day-to-day language of kids who say “Can we go home, NOW?” And that happens even if we are staying at the Cozy Mountain Lodge in remote Austin, NV, which was kind of like a home because we didn’t have to pay for our stay at the time.

What is Home?

I’ll remind them, however, what it really means. We stayed with family in their homes, which were filled with the warmth, familiarity, and comfort of our own. Grandkids, nephews, nieces, in-laws, grandparents, and parents all became closer.

We saw my parents and the kids’ grandparents, spending the best moments of our lives just sitting and talking.

But after the journey as we arrived at our actual home, the word took a different meaning and more likely the original meaning. We were in our house, a brother and sister saw their sister for the first time in two weeks. A son and daughter saw their mother. The parents reconnected, went out to dinner, and acted as if the summer didn’t happen. When you’re away, time stops, even if we called every little stop “home.”

Home is a Journey

But we did go places.

And now here’s the place where I wish I could sound like Charleton Heston or perhaps even better, Morgan Freeman — you know, the voice of poignancy and the sublime; of the depths and the aspirations of humanity; of the antidote to overuse of reverb in voice overs.

Just for kicks, think in that voice when you read this:

We saw the grandeur of the mountains of Wyoming. We immersed ourselves in the volatile Rapids of the Snake River. We saw friends who were friends before we were born; and we saw new friends in the beautiful mountains of Colorado. We explored. We were amazed. We argued. We endured.

And that was just the first four days.

Then we came back. We then saw the cities, industrial and cosmopolitan at the same time, built by those who built and are building the American Dream. We stopped at universities which were in existence decades before my grandparents immigrated to Wisconsin and New York. We laughed. We cried. We kept going, because that’s what we do.

We saw the simulacrum of Dollywood and then stumbled upon an open fair in Kansas City. We stopped in Telluride. We saw our family, and we listened to music and were immersed in a day that was different from what we are used to but still absolutely natural.

We saw empty roads for miles on America’s Loneliest Highway that seemed to eviscerate the non-sensical thoughts of the frenetically inclined and replace that with a new creative spirit.

Home is Expression

It’s kind of funny writing but with no audience in mind —directionally in contrast to everything I know. I began writing these posts simply because I felt there was a large part of my brain, psyche, or soul that I have been neglecting. I strongly encourage everyone to feed any malnourished part of your intellects. And thank you for reading these meandering posts filled of whim and wonder. They were meant for me to help myself get back to what was a former reality; to what I was accustomed; to how I once used to think; to a place that was home.

Then I thought about it. Home isn’t a thing at all. Home should be defined by the connections you make and an awareness that there is an intersection between family and places.

That’s it for me for a while.



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