Places

Kat, Sarah, and I have collaborated to post a prompt-a-day in December.  Check the #Reverb12 page for prompts and and take a look at the main page for the basic instructions on the project.

December 4th:  Place: What places anchored you this year? Or were you in search of new places and spaces to call your own and call home? Describe the place you love and why it means so much to you.

I moved into my current apartment three years ago after I separated from my now ex-husband.

As I was waiting for the movers to come deliver my things, I blogged from my iPhone:

I am sitting on the floor of my new apartment–a gut rennovated unit in a classic art deco building. Bauhaus flourishes on the interior of the building itself. My apartment is 800 square feet. A perfect, polished parquet. Wrought iron railings into a sunken living room; marble bath with modern fixtures. The kitchen, however, is space-aged…but still honors the spirit of the space.

I am an incredibly environmentally sensitive person, and one only need step one foot into this apartment to feel the positive energy; the ambient Meredithness of the place.

I am uniquely capable of feeling at home in the myriad places I’ve traveled over the last 18 months; I had come to rest comfortably the last 75 days, or so, in Northern California. But this place, for once, is all mine.

It’s a weird feeling, you know, to meet youself in the places you don’t expect to find you. To have spent your entire adult life in committed relationships, and then to come, the Friday before Thanksgiving, to a starkly empty apartment that is all your own…and find you have, for once, truly come home.

I don’t think my feelings about my house have changed at all in the three years since I came home to the Upper East Side.  My ex-husband took all of our furniture, and so I literally had to begin again: the rugs; the desks; the art; the bed.  The bed was the most exciting part: I had always said I wanted a bed with bedknobs, since Bedknobs and Broomsticks was a beloved part of my childhood.

One of the first things I did when I left him was buy a bed with crystal knobs; the kind that screw in; the kind that might someday be useful in substitutiary locomotion.

More importantly, though, I’ve found that home is where you make it.  I would go crazy if I were constantly longing for the Upper East Side as I galavant around the world.  With my heart in pieces in many places, I once said plaintively to a friend: I feel like I want to go home, and I am not sure where that is anymore.

And the reply was something to the effect of: Home is where the people you love reside.

It’s true, you know.  But what I’ve found is that wherever I go, there are people I love.  Which is strange, and fun, and funny all at once.  Perhaps there is no one at my house to change lightbulbs anymore; perhaps I run Saturday morning errands alone.  But on my travels to far flung corners of the earth, and in crises, and as the big questions come: My heart always has a home.

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