"You find your home, and it may not be what you thought- you know: color's off, style's wrong... but there it is anyway and to hell with you if you can't take a joke."
That's from the film Moonlight Mile, and I think this one line by itself has made me unreasonably fond of an otherwise just okay movie. But I really adore the quote, because there are so many concepts of home.
But the concept of home I'm most taken with at the moment has more to do with work than anything else. Not everyone needs this, and I suppose that just has to do with what home is for various people. Some people find their homes in others, and what they do for a living pales in comparison, as well it should. Others find their homes in their art, and would sacrifice all to that end. I'm neither-nor, I suppose, but I'm always looking for a place.
I'm not looking for a mansion, not looking for a mountain's precipice. Those would not feel like home, I'm quite certain. I don't have any illusions that the home that I am seeking will be paradise. But that's exactly the point. Sometimes, there isn't an explanation for these things. Perhaps there are explanations, but they are like resonance structures in chemistry- no one explanation encompasses the truth, and it would take infinite attempts to form some semblance of it.
That, of course, makes the truth and home sound like some ridiculously important concepts. Which they are not. In fact, I have no doubt they matter to absolutely no one, but me. And even to me, I can't say they are that important.
Except. Except for someone who doesn't like to be too sentimental, even writing about home is something. Except that, like a scared little schoolgirl, even admitting that I might have found home is a bit exciting. Except that, like a woman, discovering what I want is hopelessly intertwined with wondering if I really have a chance of getting it and do I really dare to dream of that which may well be out of my grasp? "One never knew, after all, now did one now did one now did one." Indeed.