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August 10, 2023

[From the archive]

Original Title: Plane Thoughts

I didn't cry this time. I don't know if that means I'm used to it, or what. If I'm used to it, I don't know if that's something I want to be. A nomad. Unrooted. But at the same time, that's what Jesus was.

I like the feeling of home. The comfort of familiarity. Food that feeds my soul. Sweet and savory smells that escape from the kitchen and seep into every room. I like the trees that line my house. The branches that cover us and gift the ground with morning dew. The grass that I begrudgingly cut every once in a while. Siblings that invade my room, my space, and my face on the daily... my siblings. I like the feeling of having everyone home. Knowing that every room is filled and well lived-in. Hearing Jack squeal on the xbox upstairs. Hearing the pots and pans clank as they dance in the sink. Hearing my sister's voice raise an octive as she calls the cats. And the certainty of recognizing someone by the sound of their footsteps. Home feels like hearing sounds and knowing exactly who is making them. The car door shut--Dad is home. Keys dangle--Cole is leaving. Microwave buttons beep at midnight--Jack is eating. Windows open--Mom is letting air in for the evening. These habits we have take up space as "home" in our hearts because that's what's familiar. That's what I know to my deepest core. What I know without seeing.

So, what happens when familiarity and comfort begin to shift into something else, someone else, or somewhere else? Is that why I didn't cry? Because the more I move, the more I find home in other places and other people? But I don't feel "used to it." I don't feel that same familiarity. Instead, I feel a little emptiness from the home I just left. The space in my heart is sore to leave. Like a bruise being pressed on when I remember what I can't. I can't barge into my brother's room whenever I want to. I can't open my fridge whenever I'm bored. I can't sit in my living room with the peace of knowing each room is full. Maybe this time I didn't cry... but my heart certainly feels sore. Or maybe... it's the pain of making room for something more.