Home is one of the most concrete yet most mystical concepts in human vocabulary. We imagine home as a place, as associations which make us remember who we are, as people who make us come alive, as duties which keep us fighting the fight of each day, even home as truth which we leave the familiar to seek out hoping that we will eventually find a deeper, lasting sense of meaning for the narrative of our existence.
I used to believe in home in that unreflective way which is perhaps the truest - before we think a concept to death and it becomes merely a word with semi-empty definitions, when we are still structured by a word, a hope, a vision which hesitates before the task of outright articulation. Like most humans, the quest for home was part of my narrative, the story I told myself to make sense of the course of my life.
But with strange twists of life and discovery of the world, I began to question the sense of home more and more. And now I am afraid that I have lost my belief in its positive power to satisfy and orient the 'soul.' Deep down, home is a necessary illusion which we all need to survive, to make 'meaningful' choices, and to continue to live with gusto, making the story of our lives a narrative of home rising from the chaos of possible existence. I do not believe in home. In fact, I positively believe it is an illusion - even if a necessary one. Such a belief is in many ways its own illusion - humans today no longer live tied to one place and one community. Most of us move around and are rewarded for being adaptable, for being able to leave behind our ties and connections and start again - for education, work, or simply personal journeys. Thus, my own attitude is perfectly in keeping with the age that produced me.
This is not all, however. My active disbelief in 'home' affects me on a level beyond merely the willingness to pick up and drop one set of connections for another. I also naively wish to make a statement about reality when I affirm: Home is nowhere and right where you are. It is both, neither... Any other imagining will only pass away into non-existence.
All the same, humans need their homes, their world, their stories. We are lost without them. Perhaps I am a little bit in love with being lost, then.