2021 was grounding for me. I’ve been on a plane since I was a few months old and flying by myself since I was 2. I’ve moved every couple years and to this date have lived in 4 countries, 10 apartments, a co-op, a sorority, 3 houses, and 2 states. For most of my life, I didn’t understand what a “home” was. I think I was trying so hard to belong somewhere, I missed the lesson entirely. This year really helped me see, that “home” can be anywhere. It’s not a place, it’s a feeling.
Home is when the dog you adopted, who never makes any expression on his long face, wags his tail when he sees you (and boops you for snacks).
Home are the kids you babysat who are so grown they’re taking YOU to Disneyland, and becoming social justice warriors themselves.
It’s the apartment that you love, with its windows and bougee balconies where you have movie and dinner nights with roommates you want to come home to.
Home is the job you’re in love with. When you’re doing work that is fulfilling, with dope, funny as shit teammates.
Home are friends who have opened their own lives and love to you. The ones who dance, snowboard and drink with you, fix your golf swing week after week, listen to your drunk ass cry and complain, tuck you in on their couch for the 100th time, TAKE YOU TO FLOOR SEATS AT A WARRIORS GAME, sing to you and remind you to login to that phone game we’ve spent way too much time and money on. The ones who find you the minute they’ve come back home from England, New York, Egypt, Georgia, Utah, LA.
Homes can be broken, and put back together again. They’re dysfunctional, stressful, painful. And yet, they can still come back and find their way. Homes can be forgiving, healing, and loving too (please go to therapy).
Home is the ocean. Warmth of the sun, rhythm of the waves, life and love, as deep as each of us (minus me panicking without a life vest).
ALOHA, 2021.
Take me by the hand, 2022. I wanna FLOW with you.