I had such a strong moment today of remembering being in my childhood bedroom it took me a while to remember the layout of my own house… I had to focus to mentally separate the places I’ve lived, and it made me realise how many similarities my home now has to the house I grew up in. There’s probably some deep psychological meaning to that, and maybe the reason this house felt like home the moment I first entered (despite some truly horrendous decorating choices by the previous owners). Maybe it’s the layout – same or very similar orientation and arrangement of bedroom and living room and kitchen… 18 months and it’s only just consciously occurred to me. It was a very strange sensation, and left me feeling a little lost and uprooted, especially as that childhood house was sold years ago. Brains and memories can be very odd things…
I have a lot to be grateful for here where my life and choices have led me, but my home town still has a strange pull on me… It still feels like a homecoming every time. Perhaps it will always be a home, those roots never truly working loose or dying away, in much the same way my Mum still refers to where she grew up as home despite there no longer being a particular place to return to. Or maybe because over time ‘home’ becomes people and emotions rather than a place. And those things are more important and valuble than any building could ever be.