Home can bring up so many connotations for each of us--some amazing, some warm, some funny, some empty, and some harrowing.
When I think of home, I am reminded of the complexity of the feelings born, raised, and fertilized inside that knobby-kneed little kid who grew up in the brick house in suburban Detroit. And, actually, that little kid and all his big feelings reared his head last Tuesday and stuck around to play for a few days.
Why did he show up at this time? I don’t know.
What did he hope to gain? Not sure.
What effect did he have on me, Jeff, the “grown-up”?
I got scared.
For those few days, it felt very difficult to find my stride, to grab hold of the successes that I had been achieving. I tried to do my “normal” stuff--eat the same, sleep the same, get to the gym--all of that--but...”he was still around.”
And then he was gone. And I felt better. I felt lighter and back to my old self. So what do you think? Why do these moments hit us? Or-- why do we bring on or create these moments of insecurity or doubt? Why do we open the doors of insecurity? Is it an attempt to go “home”?
So let’s talk of home. It gets exhausting to be a grown-up. We have to be responsible for our jobs, our finances, our spouses, our partners, our kids, our families. Our apartments, our houses, our cars. Our health and education. We feel that we need to be concerned about not only our past, present and futures, but the past, present, and futures of everything I have previously listed. Shit!
So maybe, just maybe, Jeff the grownup got tired last week. And that pesky little kid showed up, because the gatekeeper was not on duty. Maybe this was my attempt to give up my power, retreat and go home, praying that I could be taken care of for a few days, or years.
The moral? My home--my body, my internal system--may not have been experiencing the healthiest balance. I have no qualms having that knobby-kneed kid show up--I love that kid--but he should not be a drain, he should be an addition to my life. When he’s a drain, I know that I’m not doing something right. When he shows up, I want there to be more laughter, more bounce in my steps, more twinkle in my eyes as I scoop my daughter in my arms.
That’s the way it should be. Simple.
