Our family recently moved. We had eleven days between saying goodbye to our old house and getting the keys to our new place in a different city.
Both of these homes are close to the coast in the western part of the United States.
By pure luck, we found a great last-minute cruise departing from a nearby city.
This cruise was less expensive than it would have been to live out of a hotel during the days we were in limbo between addresses.
After the cruise, we did spend some time at a hotel. When we finally accepted our new keys, we spent that morning in an empty house with laminate flooring, carpet, and freshly painted white walls.
What I found interesting was how we, so effortlessly, altered the term “home” during each phase of this move. The first afternoon we were trying not to get lost on the cruise ship we repeatedly referred to our cabin as home. We would alter between telling our girls to “be back here before supper” and “be home right after the kids’ club event”. They never corrected our choice of words. Both terms were fitting. When we stayed at the hotel and talked about our schedule, we would say, “What time will you be home from work?” The day after we received our keys, we stared at the intimidating stack of boxes. We went out for a bit, and I thought, “It’s time to get home and unpack.”
Maybe having moved so many times for my husband’s career is what makes our family’s concept of home so fluid. Maybe this is the reason….. Yet, I hope not. I don’t want our home to be linked to a career move or a new address with freshly painted walls. I prefer to believe our home is a place centered on people who care about each other and a community waiting to be explored.