dislocated

Time for reflection is rare at the moment: my dance card (as it were) is pretty full at the moment, and it doesn’t leave a lot of time for thinking big thoughts. At least it’s only for a season. I’ve had this idea for a post percolating for a while. Here we go.

 

I was walking past the local train station a couple of weeks back, and realised that I felt dis-located.

The house I grew up in, as far as I knew, had always existed, and always would. My place in the world.

When you’re small, it doesn’t take much to feel at home. The place where you sleep, some toys, the building you live in, your suburb.

Grow a little older, and the concept of home becomes more complicated. Meet someone, settle down: start a new home, perhaps away from where you started. Maybe have some kids of your own, create the notion of home for them. Grow older, watch them grow up and move out. 

You still have a home, but now you’re actively involved in keeping the place running. And then, you reach the time in life where you have the most possessions you will ever own.

Suddenly, it’s time to downsize. Give things away, or sell them. Try and make sure your most significant possessions end up with the people that matter most to you. if you live long enough, you’ll move into successively smaller living spaces – from house to room to bed-with-cupboard.

Eventually, you’ll own nothing at all. The notion of home finally disappearing, as you’re dislocated once and for all.

And what next?

2 thoughts on “dislocated”

  1. Stuff is so powerful. It is hard to let go of. Treasure on earth, and all that. I've realised why my grandparents always try and give their stuff to their grandkids when we visit, it's because they want the things with attached memories of theirs to go to people who'll remember them. Watching my Grandma downsize from the family home and have a garage sale made me not want to dig my roots too deeply into anywhere or anything.

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