home.

Home. This word means something different to everyone. By definition home means 1. a house, apartment, or other shelter that is the usual residence of a person, family, or household, or 2. the place in which one’s domestic affections are centered. We all know quotes such as “home is where the heart is” and “home is not a place, it’s a feeling.” To me, home can be related to people or a place. While most people move around during their life, I have only ever lived in two houses (moving’s a bitch). There’s the home that I grew up in and lived in till I was almost 21. And then theres the house I have lived in for the past 10 years. Woof. *big sigh*

The house I grew up in is very special to me. Ask my mom to give you the five cent tour and you’ll get more than you bargained for. This house is 100 years old, and sits in an older neighborhood in my city. My mom took huge pride in restoring it when we were growing up. She tried her best to keep everything in its original form. She even kept the chandelier in the dining room (because duh) and restored the original hardwood floors. This house has so much character, and little things make it unique, along with its vast number of windows that bring in the glow of sunshine. Even though I’ve spent more life there than I have in my current house, it sometimes feels unfamiliar. I cooked for my dad on fathers day and had to ask him where the pot holders were, because I had forgotten. Something so simple made me feel detached from my childhood. Then there are days when I walk through those halls, and feel the hardwood floors beneath me, and hear the ever familiar sounds of a creak here or there, and I know I’m home.

My current house is technically a triplex. It’s a love hate relationship. I’m still in my childhood neighborhood, but my house is less than 20 years old. Having a newer house comes with less problems, and it’s less likely that things will break. But sharing walls isn’t that fun either. Especially when your neighbor decides to take up the tuba and is practicing Amazing Grace at 7am on a Saturday. My sister and I moved in after she graduated college and got a job. We said things like, “it’s a good place for a year or two”, or “this is temporary, we’ll move on eventually.” Well its been 10 years. We’ll move on eventually, yeah right. I was 21, my sis was 22, and our house is near downtown so our weekends either consisted of going to the local bars, or throwing a party at the house. 21, barely any furniture, or money for that matter, people would gather in my living room or in the garage to play beer pong while listening to The Hawk, our local classic rock radio. At this point I learned my home could be a home to others, and what a home it was. Finally, 5 years in, I started decorating and buying nicer furniture. Adulting at it’s finest. My sister and I realized that this wasn’t temporary and we could make it more our own. Side note, if anyone needs ikea furniture put together, I got you.

Now I want to talk about what else home means to me. My grandparent’s house growing up was a home. My grandmother taught me how to sew, crochet, bake, jar pickles, cross stitch, and everything else in between. She’s where I get my creative. I miss getting small gifts from her that she either made or quilted, but I do cherish what I have. My grandfather only watched westerns and old game shows on TV land, so a lot of our time was spent appreciating the past or what was. My grandmother knew our history was important so she made sure we knew our past. They were married for 55 years when my grandfather passed, and had 6 children of their own. Every time I visited, not only did I feel loved and cherished by them, I felt the love that their home held.

When I was in high school, my parents bought a timeshare in Carmel, California. Carmel is quaint as well as rich but its a beautiful area. My dad grew up in Seaside, California which is very close, so he would always show us different places from where he grew up. This quickly became a home away from home. Every time I visit, whether with my family, friends, or by myself, I feel bliss. I lay in bed with a fire crackling, windows open, listening to the soft waves crashing on the shore. There’s no better way to fall asleep, I promise you.

Now I have to talk about my friends. To me home can be a person. So let me tell you about Ellen. Ellie. El. Babe. She has so many names and nicknames but to me, she’s Ellen, my best friend from high school. Home. Throughout college and there after she had many places to call home. Honestly I’ve lost count of how many times she’s moved. In January 2017 she moved to Austin, Texas. I flew out for 10 days to help her move and explore the city. Since then it’s become a tradition that I have an extended stay in January as well as visit for the 4^th of July. Austin is a true place I can call home. I can’t even tell you how much I love this city. Ellen is a sister to me. I hang out with her parents since they’re still local, even though she’s halfway across the country. Thats another home I am blessed to have, with her parents. Ellen and I are each other’s rock. We can go a day, a week, or a month without talking, and we can always pick up where we left off. Honestly though, most days we are talking.

My friend Jen and I met at the first salon I worked at. She was an esthetician and I was a cosmetologist. Our first bonding moment, when I knew we’d be friends for life, I walked up to her on a Sunday and said “man, I’m hungover today.” Her response? “Oh gawd me too.” We’ve been best friends every since. In January 2015 she moved to Los Angeles, then later to Pasadena, California. What a world LA is. It’s not like anywhere else, and yet, I feel at home there too. We’ve always gone on adventures, and can almost never stop laughing when we’re together. Sometimes we lay in bed all day ordering postmates, and binge watch the latest TV. It’s an incredible feeling to have that type of connection with someone. I trust her with my life and know I can tell her anything. To me, she is home.

One of my best friends lives in Arizona, and although I haven’t visited her yet, to me she is also home. Last year I had surgery on my foot and was basically confined to my couch, walking wasn’t much of a option. Lets just say I spent countless hours on the phone with various people, and Rachel was one of them. We would spend nights catching up, drinking together (just because you don’t live in the same state doesn’t mean you can’t have a drink with each other.) We would talk about work, the hair world and all its complexities. Faster then you know it, she was someone I confided in, was able to talk about serious life moments and everything else a best friend does for you. She makes me feel at home emotionally, she can talk me out of every panic. I can’t wait to finally visit her actual home and be reunited. 

Have you ever visited a friends house and it just smells like home? The essence of family and children playing makes up the very essence of that homes energy. You can feel the passion, love and devotion that goes into the hard work of marriage, relationships, and parents. Whenever I visit Christina, our other creative, I feel a sort of happiness I don’t feel anywhere else. Being a parent isn’t easy, but I’m blessed to know some of the best. I feel this way with our friend Jo. Her home has this echo of love and caring that you can’t miss. I love watching these children grow up in these homes. It melts my heart to see Christina and Jo along with their spouses raise these amazing children. I’m just lucky I get to join in on the fun.

In conclusion, I am very lucky to have these amazing people, and places in my life. I wouldn’t be where I am today without having a home to come back to, whichever one I need at the time. So, what is home to you? What is your definition? What does it feel like for you? To me, home is my story.