Yes, what else but home?
Wednesday, December 8th, 2004 11:21 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
chanaleh
Observation:
When I was a kid, I hated going home. Like, anytime we were out doing something for the evening, a movie or a school program or what have you. Come time to go home, I would always feel a slightly heartsick wish that there were *somewhere* else yet to go, *something* else to do. A second stop of, say, going out for ice cream was the sort of thing that addressed that desire. But even if we got to do that, the feeling would still be there when it was time to go home then.
Whereas when we were home of an evening, and not doing much of anything (and I didn't have, say, a fresh stack of library books handy), I would mope around and say to my mother, "Can't we go somewhere and do something?" "Where do you want to go?" was the usual, patently-rhetorical response; and since there was pretty much no answer I could articulate -- Somewhere, anywhere, more exciting than here -- I would go back to moping until I eventually found something to occupy myself with.
It wasn't that home was a bad place to be for any tangible reason; there just wasn't much that was satisfying about it, either. I longed for something more, and whatever it was, it wasn't in the house.
Some might say that I'm playing out that to this day.
Because, seriously, I am never home. (Just ask my parents.)
That is: I have my life so packed full of stuff to do, people to see, and places to be that I never "have" to be home unless I want to (in fact it usually takes concerted effort to schedule myself downtime at home). And I never have to be bored ever (in fact I often have a hard time mentally gearing down and relaxing, even when I want to).
And, I mean, on a conscious level I like being home now (in my adult life). I appreciate being home, I like building and maintaining and enjoying my home, I am happy to go home. Because I have in the meantime achieved control over my space, and control over my time, and... yeah. Life is as fulfilling as I could ever want it to be. But, it's interesting how I still seem to be running on that must-be-out-and-about dynamic.
I'd like to say more, and I'm sure that under other circumstances I'd have something really insightful to draw out of this line of inquiry; but I think my brain ran out of gas half an hour ago. Bedtime.
When I was a kid, I hated going home. Like, anytime we were out doing something for the evening, a movie or a school program or what have you. Come time to go home, I would always feel a slightly heartsick wish that there were *somewhere* else yet to go, *something* else to do. A second stop of, say, going out for ice cream was the sort of thing that addressed that desire. But even if we got to do that, the feeling would still be there when it was time to go home then.
Whereas when we were home of an evening, and not doing much of anything (and I didn't have, say, a fresh stack of library books handy), I would mope around and say to my mother, "Can't we go somewhere and do something?" "Where do you want to go?" was the usual, patently-rhetorical response; and since there was pretty much no answer I could articulate -- Somewhere, anywhere, more exciting than here -- I would go back to moping until I eventually found something to occupy myself with.
It wasn't that home was a bad place to be for any tangible reason; there just wasn't much that was satisfying about it, either. I longed for something more, and whatever it was, it wasn't in the house.
Some might say that I'm playing out that to this day.
Because, seriously, I am never home. (Just ask my parents.)
That is: I have my life so packed full of stuff to do, people to see, and places to be that I never "have" to be home unless I want to (in fact it usually takes concerted effort to schedule myself downtime at home). And I never have to be bored ever (in fact I often have a hard time mentally gearing down and relaxing, even when I want to).
And, I mean, on a conscious level I like being home now (in my adult life). I appreciate being home, I like building and maintaining and enjoying my home, I am happy to go home. Because I have in the meantime achieved control over my space, and control over my time, and... yeah. Life is as fulfilling as I could ever want it to be. But, it's interesting how I still seem to be running on that must-be-out-and-about dynamic.
I'd like to say more, and I'm sure that under other circumstances I'd have something really insightful to draw out of this line of inquiry; but I think my brain ran out of gas half an hour ago. Bedtime.