I’m almost homeless. I haven’t really had a place that was my own since I left the cottage-by-the-sea. I’ve seen glimpses of the possibility of home, but I’ve been barely able to make the room in which I’ve slept my own. I’ve moved around a lot, too much even for me. It’s been less and more dramatic than it might otherwise have been.
But after 2 years of almost homelessness, I have a home now and it is on the opposite side of the world. The man I love is there. We hung the curtain rails in the lounge room together and the towel rails in our bathroom. It is our home. Our pictures grace the walls. I order things and send them to him.
I ride the train north, a nicer train than the usual ripped vinyl seat rumbler. This one is white metal and plastic and blue and yellow upholstered carriages – it is quieter too. I feel. A little numb – not the heart rending sadness of being torn asunder from the sweet man who now sleeps alone. I feel resigned. I want to be content in all things. I want to be happy and at peace about being back. I want to remember that others do not have the luxury of a country to call home.
But right now, I admit I do not feel at home.
I am almost Homeless
My heart is splintered into pieces and find its roots on different continents. The sun soothes the wound; but not like his touch.
I know I chose this path. And he is worth the wait, and worth the distance. I am learning that I need to find home wherever I find myself. This contentment is hard won, I’m not going to lie. It is hard. It hurts in the hidden places, and to be content feels like a strain. Some days I don’t relish being close to the sea like I know I will wish I had. Some days, I want to hang on his every word instead of letting him sleep or signing off so I can go to work.
Some days I want to be in the kitchen of this home dancing to music and cooking together. i want to be planning how we are going to transform it from being a house into our home. I don’t want to be almost homeless anymore.
My life. Our Life. This Life is not a pedestrian life.
But we seek Home.
Faith is a matter of each step at the moment. It is a living trust. I have no energy for bold proclamations about plans, even though I appreciate those of others. I know the reality of not being in control, which is more than thinking falsely that I am in control. I know Truth and I know Love. And that is enough.
That is enough.
Listening. Observing. Participating. Writing. Photographing. Reflecting.
Anna Blanch Rabe is an Australian-born writer and photographer. You can follow her adventure on Not A Pedestrian Life, or Facebook. More of her photography can be viewed here. For more domestic things take a look at Quotidian Home or her previous website, Goannatree.