Yesterday marks a year since I moved back home. Leaving Liverpool and my student life behind to take my first steps into the working world.
The time has flown by. And yet at the same time it feels like I have been here forever – in a good way. For many people flying back to the nest is a result of running out of funds or clean clothes. but for me it has been an added bonus. Being able to come home to comfortable and familiar surroundings has helped me to adapt to my new life.
Obviously being busy has helped. I don’t think I would have coped as well going from a bustling city and student social life to sitting in my quiet cottage with nothing to do.
However I do miss Liverpool. It was the backdrop to the years that saw me grow into a young adult. I made myself a life there and in return it helped to make me. It was, and probably always will be, a place I’ll happily call home.
This got me thinking. As different as Liverpool and here are, they are both home. But how is that possible? If home is where the heart is then surely you should only have one? Unless you are anatomically unusual that is.
And for me it doesn’t stop there. Germany is home after spending a lot of my childhood there. The homes of close friends even feel like home – the ones where you can offer to put the kettle on without feeling you are overstepping the mark.
So what is home? What makes somewhere give you that feeling of content calm as soon as you step over the threshold?
I think I have sussed it.
This weekend my little sister made the move home like I did a year ago. And as soon as I hugged her I got that same feeling.
We’ve always been a close family, and despite spending the majority of the past four years apart nothing has changed.
And that’s when it struck me. Places aren’t home, people are.