April 14, 2015 – Home *is* where the heart is

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I’ve been following Kelly Flanagan’s weekly posts. He’s a dad, husband and therapist in the Midwest and he writes insightfully and inspiringly about marriage, family and life in general in his blog:  Untangled:  tell a redemptive story of your life. now.  Last Wednesday’s post was:  Home is where the grace is.  He told of an experience with his young son in a homeless shelter and how “house” and “home” are not the same thing.  This struck me as, for a long time, I’ve had this sense too.

When I was learning French it bothered me that there is no real translation for the word “home.”  “House” is directly translated to “maison” but the closest translation of “home” is “chez____.”  For example, “chez nous” means “our place” in English.  It indicates the place where we live.  But home is not just the place where we return to each day.  As Kelly Flanagan says it’s not so much a place as an experience and that there are many ways to be “homeless.”

There is so much to the word “home” that is hard to put words to.  More than 10 years ago, when I was first working with my mom in real estate, I helped set up NIZ Realty’s first website.  For the home (!) page I wrote something about us and our brokerage that began with this sentence:  We come into this place we cannot name, we grow here, set roots here, love others here, we leave it and miss it, always to come back to it… home is one of the most important values in our lives. I was attempting to describe (with my writing skills at that time and with as much depth as was appropriate on a real estate website!) the something else that is home to us. Most commonly we think of home as something that is created in our house – the structure that provides our physical shelter. But in looking at it this past week, I’ve found home all over my life.

One of the great blessings in my life is that I was born into a profound sense of home.  The family that my mom and dad created held a deep place of belonging for all of us.  Family – my dad, mom and brothers – was home.  I was part of something, in an unspoken, even unconscious way. It just was. It’s beyond being welcomed, or being valued.  We were and are each part of – family and home was made up of all of us.

For me, one important way this was lived and fostered was that we ate around a table every evening, no matter what else was going on. (Well, except the one night a year when The Wizard of Oz was on TV – we got to eat with our plates in our laps, sitting on the living room floor – but only then.)

Another accident of birth that has blessed me enormously was to have been born here – in Marin County.  Roaming the hills around Woodacre, in the San Geronimo Valley as a kid, I had no idea how spectacular this place is.  It took becoming an adult and returning after being away, to see the beauty of these hills and valleys. I feel very fortunate to have been able to return to Marin after my divorce and buy myself a little house – before it became too expensive to do so.  It’s wonderful to still have home be where home has always been – and to have it be such a special place.

Yes, I know Marin has changed.  In the 60’s and 70’s it was largely middle class. It has become quite affluent, which has changed the make-up of its residents – their attitudes and expectations.  Regardless, there are many kind and good people – people who care about others and our planet – who live here, making it what it is.

I’ve always been a home-maker.  I hung a sheet that had sea shells all over it on the concrete wall of my room the year I lived in a dorm in college – to give it some life and softness.  Though just up for a couple of weeks, I had a five foot Christmas tree that holiday season, lights, ornaments and all.  Our room became a gathering place because if it.  My Paris apartment and a little place sub-let when I left my first husband – regardless how temporary, I need to claim the spaces I live in as mine. Flowers, candles, something familiar to hang on the walls – makes me home.  It’s also instinctive to invite people over – welcome them as if they live here – cook for them, feed them.  There’s something about hospitality that creates home for me.

In looking at this, I see now these other ways and places I’m home too:

• My emotional and spiritual path has been largely one of finding a sense of home inside myself.
• The ongoing transformation of my relationship with my body has allowed me to experience home in my physical being.
• I lived in Paris for six months where I first experienced my feminine self. I’ve traveled back many times since and it’s become a familiar place, where I feel at home – thousands of miles away.
• When I was part of the Fairfax Community Church, I felt a deep sense of spiritual home in community – something I’d never known before.
• Joe and I connected with Kauai in 1999 and have visited there pretty much every year since. Now, just getting off the plane at the Lihue airport and a feeling of home washes over us.

My experience is that it can take familiarity with a place or with a group of people for the sense of belonging to settle in.  Welcoming and acceptance are part of the mix too. But it also takes claiming.  We must show up and be a part of in order to feel a part of.  I’d like to think that home can happen quickly too, if we are willing to open to it.

I realize that this is what has happened in the on-going art groups that I lead each week.  It’s even started to develop with the Special Saturdays series started this year.  It is home – for me and for those who come regularly.  My mom has opened her office, her space, welcoming my groups to claim it as ours on Thursdays, Fridays and some Saturdays.  Like the theme song for Cheers it’s Where Everybody Knows Your Name.  We do know each other’s name – of course – but also each other’s art and stories and lives.  Everyone is missed when they are away.  It’s safe, we’re all accepted and everyone belongs. I’m certain that having an art-home makes a difference in the art that comes from us.

It is my intention that as each new person joins us, they feel this welcome and that, if we are theirs, they claim us and call us home – regardless of how long everyone else has been coming to the group.  Though history, shared experience brings depth and richness, it’s not most important.  What matters more is that the environment supports us to open and connect with each other.  The connection between human hearts is where I am most home.  I invite you to join in.

Love,

Cara