For a lot of people, being without a “home” would be disconcerting or unsettling, and while I have mini moments of this, overall, my sense of home has never been tied to a building. Home for me is not a house - it is a place where I feel loved. I have lived in dozens of houses in many different cities in a handful of states and provinces in four countries and on two continents; some were homes, some were not. When I was younger, the church I attended had an orchestra and a drama team and we used to perform full length productions. One of them I performed in was called Home is Where the Heart Is and for me that has certainly been true. I have lived in beautiful homes with stunning views, crappy condos with even crappier condo boards, and even downright nasty places with cockroaches, yet in each I felt at home. Most recently I called home a small “in between space” I fondly referred to as The Hovel.
The Hovel was a space I designed in the last house I renovated. It was located between my lower basement suite and my upper vacation rental suite. The idea was to have a space where I could store my stuff should I ever decide to go travel for an extended period of time allowing me to rent up and down without having to move my valuables out of the house. Naturally the in between space had to have a sizable wine cellar and the TV room with adjoining snack room could be used whether I lived up or down. The hovel was maybe 400 square feet and it was never my intent to live in that space, however, when the pandemic shut down happened, all my vacation rental bookings upstairs cancelled. I wrongly assumed that my summer’s income would be all but gone, so I decided to put a long term tenant into my basement suite (the space where I normally live in the summer when the upstairs in rented). I figured if I was going to be without summer income from the upstairs, I might as well have some income from the basement suite and enjoy living in the newly renovated upstairs myself. Much to my surprise however, when the lockdowns were eased, overnight my vacation rental upstairs booked up solid and I found myself with nowhere to live except The Hovel. Adaptability has always been one of my strong suites so the TV room became my bedroom and snack room doubled as a kitchen. Over the summer I became very fond of my tiny space. It felt cozy and safe even though I was alone and there was no one there to love me except me...so with that in mind, I began working on self-love, and soon The Hovel became home.
I believe it is my concept of home that allows me to travel and move frequently without feeling unsettled. While I take pride in making my homes beautiful and comfortable, I accept that no matter how large or luxurious a house is, no matter how impressive the view - a house without love is not a home at all. I used to say that I would rather live in the back of a turnip truck with someone I am desperately in love with than in a mansion with a cold shoulder.
I took myself on a date this weekend. I went to a lovely organic winery and enjoyed the beautiful views overlooking the lake. Then I went to lunch – just me and a book I bought called The Cork Dork. I had a lovely time.
Reinventing myself at 58 is not exactly what I had in mind. Losing my best friend and soulmate – even though it was my call - was devastating, but it was the first step in my journey. Self-love is the foundation for setting boundaries and creating healthy relationships with others, so I am eager to learn how to practice self-care, I am anxious to get back to pursuing my interests and goals, and I am excited to start living a life that leaves me feeling proud of who I am.
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