Home?

On my phone I keep my alarms, as most people now do. Wake up for work, meetings I can't forget, etc. But I have one alarm I have not changed the name of for many years:

"Go home"

I remember I named that alarm one time when I had to leave Las Vegas early to get back to Tucson at a reasonable hour. Ever since, it's been the alarm I use for whenever I need to return to Tucson. Because Tucson was where I called home. 

My mom doesn't call Tucson home. She refuses to call her apartment home. She says, "I'm at the apartment now. Good night," So I started to do the same with my apartment. It became the place where my stuff and I are at but only temporarily, until we were back home. 

Wherever that is. 

A few months ago I went to the Nauticus museum and I they had this little exhibit on housing and what "home" meant for different people. I played with their magnet poetry and assembled "Home is sanctuary shelter bed place." 

Home is where I should feel safe. 

Now having lived here for a year, Virginia does not yet feel like home. Coming back to AZ for the week has been very bittersweet: I'm catching up with as many friends as possible, but I also know I'm not part of their lives anymore in the same way. 

Driving my mom's car around Tucson, I see some small and big changes. Restaurants and businesses come and gone. New constructions and the same orange traffic cones. The Carl's Jr. went up in flames again. I still know this city, but it already feels like the city has forgotten me. It feels different. It probably never knew me in the first place. Part of me was hoping I would randomly stumble into someone I knew, a friend or classmate or former student, help Tucson live up to its small-town-feel reputation. I had one such bite when I went to the bar to play trivia with the old team. I was sure to schedule and visit as many friends and family as possible. My social calendar has been booked the entire week and it is exhausting but fulfilling. My battery is depleted but my heart is full. 

I miss Tucson, but the city doesn't miss me. People do, though, and that's been the "growing up" aspect of moving away for me. 

My mom asked me to move some boxes for her to help put away her winter clothes. Moving things around, I spot a few of the boxes I left and couldn't move with me last year. I open up the box and find some of my first friends. These are the ones most men would have gotten rid of in their teens, but I have held onto them like a kid who can't or won't grow up. Some teddy bears, the otter plush I bought from the Monterey Aquarium in 2007, and even the little bunny that came last Easter with a mug and some Reese's Pieces. 

 

It's also a stark reminder of how I'm basically 40 and have never had kids or any kind of serious relationship. One of my aunts was already a grandma by the time she was 40, and here I am being a dead branch in a family tree. It's a guilt of regret. If I were straight, things might be different. 

For me, home has always been a place that was curated for me to return to. Now I feel like I have to make it myself and I'm not sure where to start. I don't know if I can afford a pet. Or a boyfriend. 

I have one bamboo plant that survived the move. His name is David. In looking at pictures from last July to now I'm realizing that he has grown quite a bit, even though I am bad at noticing the day-to-day changes. I think I'll need to repot him in a bigger cup. So there are changes and growth, even if I don't always notice them. I hope I have grown a bit, too, though I don't feel like it.