Home Is Where the Bed Is

I’ve called many places home in my short 22 years. After moving to Florida from Michigan at the age of five, my parents continually rented houses. Growing up we spent our summers in Charlevoix, Michigan, and the school year in Naples, Florida. Luckily for me, after moving to Naples, we didn’t move cities again for seventeen years. The Florida houses were all in Naples during this time; I did not have to worry about changing school and making new friends. For 10 years we had the same summer house, then we decided to just do summer apartment rentals. In Florida, we would move rental houses every August. The routine usually went: August, move into new house, in June, board up the Florida house for hurricanes, pack for the summer, pack up the car, close the house, drive to Michigan, open the other house (or move stuff in from the storage unit); and in August close the summer house (or move back into storage), go back to Florida, open up the house, pack it all up, and move into another house.

Then one day Dad came home with the best news I had probably ever heard. I was about ten years old. We’d finally bought a house in Florida- no more yearly rentals. My parents had not owned a house since I was two years old. They’d finally done it. We were going to live in one place for a long time. We wouldn’t have to pack up so many times each year. I was allowed to paint my closet purple, put the little stars on my ceiling and put as many nails in the wall as mom would allow. I couldn’t believe the news.

I have lived in around 25 different homes now, but I can’t even recall them all any more (we only lived in the house we bought for five years). Yet I can only blame myself for a handful of the different homes; I happily went out of state for college, and eagerly went abroad for school twice. All of these occasions requiring more packing, more moving, more “homes.” I was encouraged to be independent, and grew up loving the idea of traveling and seeing the world. I was independent early on; I loved the privacy of my own room. The worst punishment my parents very gave me for misbehaving was taking the knob from my door so I could close the door to my private domain no longer. My older sister loved this; she would barge in, at random times, not only scaring the crap out of me, but invading my most sacred bubble. In this space, my favorite place has always been my bed. It has always provided me a sense of comfort I never fully understood.

Sitting on a bungalow porch on a beach in southern Thailand on study abroad, the student fellow for our program and I had a long chat about how you never really know “home” until you leave it. The conversation started about knowing the environmental situations, but as the sun set on the beach, we talked about what home means to us. This is when I began to realize that I could be at home anywhere in the world as long as I had a bed. The physical space did not matter. Home is where my heart is.

While one of my homes is always where my family is, I found that when I moved away to college, I needed to find a way to make my space my home so that I can find the security that comes with being “at home”. For many, this sense of comfort and relaxation is provided by the physical space of their house, I have found that sense in the space of my bed. When I lost the space of having my own room in college and travels, my bed began to signify my home space. A simple space of a bed provides me comfort, security, and relaxation. I love to curl up on my bed, and read, do my homework, or chat with my friends on the phone. I even sit on my bed with my laptop and wireless to do my best thinking. Bed signifies the opportunity to close my eyes on the problems of today and open your eyes again with a new opportunity for tomorrow. As an extremely vivid dreamer, bed provides an escape with from the realities of this world. Bed can be a place where I go to experience immense pleasure, or where I go when worn out from immeasurable pain. Through all these relocations, I have found that I can anywhere where my bed can be found, I willingly call “home.” I can quickly settle in, add touches of myself to the space, and it is home.

With my ability to make nearly any place my home, I have an advantage that allows me to adjust quickly in new situations. I am not afraid of going places alone, because I know I’ll be able to find home there as long as I have my bed. Now that I’m getting ready to start “my own life,” moving is something I think about a lot. Despite the fact that I can make many places home, I’m ready to move in June and stay put for more than one year.

Personal Narrative Draft

I’ve called many places home in my short 22 years. Luckily for me, most of the places were in just a few cities- we moved houses, but I was able to stay in the same schools most of the time. I have lived in around 25 different homes, but I actually can’t even recall them all any more. I seem to remember a house we lived in for a short time in between two other houses. I know what city it was in, but can’t remember where it was located within the city.

I can only blame myself for a handful of the different homes; I have gone abroad for school twice, and happily went out of state for college. All of these occasions requiring more packing, more moving, more “homes.”

People have very drastically different ideas of what constitutes home and what they are willing to call home. I found in college that many people hated to call their dorm rooms “home.” People who have lived in the same place for many years, and they equate their sense of home and that security with the physical building. In college, I found many friends who did not decorate their dorm space, and do little to make it their own. For me, I have found that I can anywhere where my bed can be found, I willingly call “home.” I can quickly settle in, add touches of myself to the space, and it is home.

As a result of constantly moving, I find myself attached to my material memories and belongings. My mom calls me a pack-rat; I prefer to think of it as keeping many memories. I also find myself unable to pack lightly when I travel. Which I think has to do with my desire to make where ever I am in the world feel like my home. I had moved most of my belonging to Michigan from Florida by my sophomore year of school and was quick to decorate my apartment in Thailand. Sitting on a bungalow porch on a beach in southern Thailand, I talked at length with someone about how you never really know “home” until you leave it. This is when I began to realize that I could be at home in the world as long as I had a bed. Even in my current small cluttered apartment that I hate I have been able to find a sense of home. I put up some artwork, set up my bed, and find in the space a sense of safety and escape- as much as I hate the space itself.

Even as a child I loved the privacy of my own room. The worst punishment my parents very gave me was taking the knob from my door so I couldn’t close my door to my private domain any longer. Having a bed represents that sense of privacy for me. I would love to curl up on my bed, and read, do my homework, or chat with my friends on the phone. As I travel more and more, and lost the space of having my own room, my bed began to signify my home space. A simple space of a bed provides me comfort, security, and relaxation. Bed signifies the opportunity to close my eyes on the problems of today and open your eyes again with a new opportunity for tomorrow. As an extremely vivid dreamer, bed provides an escape with from the realities of this world. Bed can be a place where I go to experience immense pleasure, or where I go when worn out from immeasurable pain. You can easily decorate your bed, adding touches of yourself to the space. While one of my homes is always where my family is, I found that when I moved away to college, I needed to find a way to make my space my home so that I can find that security. For many, this sense of comfort and relaxation is provided by their entire space of their house, I have found that sense in the space of my bed.

Now that I’m getting ready to start “my own life” and in eventually (in a long while) my own family, this is something I think about a lot. I’m crazy good and packing boxes and cars full of stuff. And I don’t need to be able to see out the back of the car to drive. Moving does have its benefits. More than anything I’m ready to move and stay put for more than one year. I know that with my passion for travel, I will continue to have many more homes in my day. But with the ideas of “growing up” and starting a family, I debate whether it would be more beneficial for our family to move for a while, or do I want to plant my roots firmly from the beginning? I wonder where my next home will be with my graduation quickly approaching- choosing where to move can be a big decision. I do love to travel, but after so many years of packing everything up and moving at the end of every year, I look forward greatly to the opportunity to settle down for more than twelve months, but where do I go?