According to my cell phone, as of today I don’t have a home. A home number, anyway.
My parents finally decided to get rid of their land line and go completely cellular. Though I live with them, I rarely used the home phone, so its lack of existence doesn’t affect me greatly in a physical sense.
Deleting “Home” from my cell phone sure felt strange though.
“Home” is not a number in my cell phone; I know that.
Nor is it a house, apartment, igloo, or any other structure.
At this stage in my life, I don’t know exactly how to define the concept of “home.” Yes, I live with my parents, and compared to many in the same situation, we get along quite well. In conversation, I still refer to it as “home,” but I don’t always feel like I believe it.
Singing about the idea of home seems to be a popular choice for musicians. Without much work, I thought of 3 songs by different artists, all entitled “Home.”
Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros’ “Home”:
Let me come Home
Home is whenever I’m with you
Let me come Home
Home is when I’m alone with you
I love the song, but their definition of “home,” as being with you significant other, doesn’t apply to me at this point. Michael Buble’s song Home seems to imply much the same thing, and though I think these definitions of home are valid, they’re not valid for me right now.
If “home” is defined so narrowly as being with a significant other, I know a lot of people who are “homeless.” But I don’t that’s the only way it can, or should, be defined.
Maybe Philip Phillips’ Home gets the closest of any of these three songs:
Settle down, it’ll all be clear
Don’t pay no mind to the demons
They fill you with fear
The trouble it might drag you down
If you get lost, you can always be found
Just know you’re not alone
Cause I’m going to make this place your home
Maybe all these songs are onto a similar thread–though traditionally I think of home as a location or structure, it’s more about who you’re with, and what you make of where you are. Maybe home is a feeling, not a state of location.
In that sense, home isn’t external, but internal. I knew “home” wasn’t the number in my cell phone, but neither is it the house I’m sitting in. Pieces of it can be found in my family, pieces of it in my friends, spread over the country and globe though they are, pieces of it can be found in my church, my coworkers, and community as a whole.
Maybe home is what you make it.
Til next time…
p.s. How would you define “home”? Has it changed over time?