I have moved too many times in the past 10 years. Between Dallas and New York, I have had 8 addresses and the one I have now will change before too long. And with all this moving and all these notes to the USPS about forwarding addresses, I've thought to myself, how on earth can any of these places have felt like home?
In thinking about it, there was always one moment, always one activity that tipped the balance from "place I live" to "home." One simple thing that made all the difference from my point of view. It was the moment I started hanging pictures on the wall. With each nail and push pin placed on the virgin and recently painted wall, I was making my mark on the room and claiming it with pictures of family and friends and memories. I was reminding myself of the moments that took place some where else that lead to the here and now.
And as I look around my current living situation, I see my pictures, my paintings and my posters. But not on the wall because where I am right now isn't my home. Their on the floor waiting for transportation to wherever we go next. To a place that I hope I can call my home for much longer than any of the 1-2 year stints that the past decade has known. To a place that isn't just a crash pad in transition or a stepping stone to something better next time. No, the next time those frames come out of their temporary resting place, it will be to signify I've found my new Home.