So many times I go into writing a post unsure that I'll be able to explain something I'm feeling. This is one of those times.
It's a vague feeling that I forget about until I actually feel it and when I do feel it, it's so fleeting that by the time I try to write about it, it's gone.
Most of us have lived such transient lives that we never feel it. Or maybe I feel it sometimes and it's unique to me. Who knows? I felt it frequently in the other house we lived in because we were there for five years, but I haven't felt it in this house yet because we've only been here for eight months. It takes a while.
It's a feeling of belonging, of knowing where everything is, of being able to walk through the house late at night and not run into anything. It's not having to go on a major quest every time you need the duct tape, an important paper, the bottle opener. It's a feeling of being home, of being anchored.
I still feel like I'm in somebody else's house here. The roots haven't grown yet. I'm a person who grows roots like crazy, but now, I'm kind of afraid to because every time I do, they get yanked up and wither a little. Then they get stuck in some other soil and it takes them a long time to figure out if it's hospitable soil or not. It goes on a deep psychic level with me, not just that of new noises, new neighbors, new nooks and crannies.
Spring always gets me thinking about things like this, mostly because I always get homesick, not for California as much as the home I lived in since I was 17. And then it passes and I'm back to being content wherever I happen to be.
Yeah. It feels like that.