As this whole thing draws to an end I’ve been grappling with the definition of “home.” Jason Lytle has a song called “Yours Truly, Dear Commuter” and there’s a line in it about being tired and bruised but he’s coming home. I’ve listened to it on repeat because I relate to it but I have no idea of the home I’m coming to.
Is a home a physical space or a place where we feel comfortable and defended against the harsh realities of the world? I haven’t had either for an extended period of time in the last twenty years. I’ve known for a while how I plan to end this “journey” (for lack of a better term) but I’ve also been debating if my intended ending is the best conclusion. It makes sense only in so much that I don’t really have another suitable alternative for myself. I don’t have a comfortable space to retire and if I did I have no clue what I would do. It’s said that home is where the heart is. What the hell does that even mean? My heart has eroded to the point that I wouldn’t trust it even if I found myself in a spot where I felt “at home.”
I think the decision I’ve made is the best solution for everyone involved. I’ve spent enough time tearing things apart for myself and others that my final act should be in congruence with that. It’s probably not the best solution but its finality belies that it is the only solution worthy of pursuit.