It all came together for me when I was on the island of Ithaca, Greece, with my group of fellow pilgrims. We had been immersed in the story of Odysseus—his hero’s journey and his return home—when I had the revelation and understanding of what was underlying a desire for a new house.
I had moved from the big family home to my small cottage seven years prior, when my husband, Harvey, had been placed in a memory care unit and our daughters had moved out. I had been lonely rambling around that big house full of memories, and I didn’t have much to do to occupy my expanded free time, now that caregiving took up so much less of it. I may have needed a constructive project to distract me, to insulate and protect my heart. I don’t think I had intentionally run away from the house, but rather, it had seemed like a new start, a new place for my new life. And I still do love the gem of a house that I had found.
But a few problems with this house loomed. There is a flight of concrete stairs to the front door. Not that it bothers me. The payoff is worth it, situating the house high above the street, nestled in the trees. I really don’t mind the stairs, but my guests do, especially my octogenarian parents. Then I was sideswiped by a hit and run driver a few months ago, because there is only off-street parking, and I decided it was time to look for another house.
I started looking about three months ago, just seeing what was available in the neighborhood, as I did not want to leave the area. At first it was just to see what the market was like, what my budget could afford.
While I was on the pilgrimage, my realtor (who is also my beloved sister, Andrea) alerted me to a house that fit all the criteria and seemed perfect. She told me that it would probably sell fast, and I agreed that it would, as the house was on a highly desirable street. I wouldn’t be able to see it, though, as I was in Greece. So Andrea and one of my daughters FaceTimed with me as they toured the house. With their blessing and encouragement, I put an offer on it. I was outbid, so that one got away.
I remained somewhat ambivalent about this new house idea. I love my little cottage, and because I wasn’t that upset about losing out on the house that I had toured virtually, what was I really looking for? What was really behind this desire to move?
On Ithaca, our group was reflecting on the theme of “home”—what does “home” mean, is it a place from our past or our family’s past? Is it a feeling? Is it nostalgia? Can anyone ever go home again?
That’s when I realized that I wanted a bit larger house. In my current home, I cannot entertain larger gatherings. A quaint cottage is not conducive to Thanksgiving dinners or even larger parties. Not that I am a big entertainer or thrower of parties, but I would like to be able to host my extended family of about twenty, at least occasionally. It would also be nice to be able to have more than one guest spend the night with me if needed.
I realized that I want more people in my life. The time of isolation and insulation has passed. After seven years in this house, my heart has mostly recovered. It’s grown, too, and I want to expand my hearth to match the expansion of my heart.
And I think I have found my new home.