Homeward Bound

From Garden State, one of the most underrated comedies in recent memory (and one damn fine soundtrack, I might add), comes this gem of dialogue:

Andrew Largeman: You know that point in your life when you realize that the house that you grew up in isn't really your home anymore? All of the sudden even though you have some place where you can put your stuff that idea of home is gone.

Sam: I still feel at home in my house.

Andrew Largeman: You'll see when you move out it just sort of happens one day one day and it's just gone. And you can never get it back. It's like you get homesick for a place that doesn't exist. I mean it's like this rite of passage, you know. You won't have this feeling again until you create a new idea of home for yourself, you know, for you kids, for the family you start, it's like a cycle or something. I miss the idea of it. Maybe that's all family really is. A group of people who miss the same imaginary place.

The first time I saw this movie, spring of 2005, this really hit home. How true it was for me and for most people I would wager to say. Growing up "home" was my Mom's house. It's where I felt safe. And comfortable. A shelter from the outside world and its judgment and pettiness. It was my haven. Then there came a time when it no longer served as my fortress of solitude. It was in high school when my mother got remarried (that's a story for a different blog altogether). When he was out of the picture... home did not become home again. Home was not home during college either. Sure it was a haven from finals and stress. It served as my own personal detox facility at times. It was indeed great for treats and laundry and being doted on, but it was not home. Then came law school, aka High School 2.0. Plenty of fun. I found many GREAT friends and people I consider my extended family and my core, but not home. Then I got a job, rented a fine house. All my stuff was there. I was a big boy with big boy concerns and big boy bills. But it wasn't home. Then I bought a house. A wonderful home. I love every bit of it. Its location, its layout, its feel. But it wasn't home.

For those keeping score, that is Mike being a man without a home for over 10 years. A soul wandering about searching for something that wasn't there. Something I thought I may never re-attain. A childhood nicety and a place of fond memories. My own little Oz. A place of dreams that maybe never really existed. Alas, I was wrong.

I am proud to report to you all: Mike has found his home.

Home, my friends, is where the heart is. It's old and cliche'. You've seen it on a thousand cross-stitched pillows and hand painted crafts, but that makes it no less true. I found home when I found Her. She is there at every turn. Every time I need her. She is my home. And wherever She goes, my home will be there, because "home" is not a building. Not a house. Not a fortress. Home is more than lumber and nails. Home is a state of being. A happiness and comfort. A knowledge that no matter what happens out there or around me, at "home" it doesn't matter for I am loved. Oh yes, I found home my friends, Home is Where the Heart is. Where She is. And I'm not afraid to tell the world.