The prelude to any big decision is confusion. We spend days, weeks, months, weighing the pros and cons of our choices- debating between what’s best for us, our loved ones, and what will be best in the long run. More often than not, I believe, we spend this time unaware that we are about to make a big decision, but are merely faced with the anxiety that deciding brings.
I have a nostalgia for my romanticized home. I say romanticized because I really don’t have a home anymore. My parents are in the midst of divorce, the home I am speaking of is the battlefronts, my mother’s territory for now, but awaiting invasion. My father has fled to safer grounds, living with his sister, but this too is not a home. My Nana’s home, the place that I can recall on several occasions using as a sense memory to bring me peace, is no longer hers. She has moved into the redone basement, and my brother, his wife, and their new baby occupy the upstairs. There is no home where I am from.
There’s this obvious craving for family and companionship, but that has hardly ever been enough to stir more than a brief loneliness. So what is it? What am I truly missing? I am not home here and I will not be home there and it’s been said that places of uncertainty are the most dangerous to live in. These are the places where people face the most emotional turmoil; these are the places where people give up.
What decision am I trying to make?