Do you have a relationship with your home? How about your childhood home? Well, I can honestly answer “yes” to both of those questions. Obviously I love my tiny home, but when I fall asleep at night, I often dream that I live in my childhood home. And even though I haven’t actually seen that ranch-style house in fifteen years, I remember it vividly. Could that mean that my childhood abode still feels like “home” to me? Not to sound nostalgic, but perhaps that’s what this journey is all about – finding home.
Our first stop on our giant journey was to revisit the home that I so often dream about: Where the bus picked me up from kindergarten to seventh grade. Where I grew tall. Where I learned to read and write.
My family’s former house, located in Centerville, Ohio.
My heart raced as we drove through my old neighborhood, and each curve greeted me as if I was visiting a long lost friend. “There’s going to be a steep hill up ahead,” I said, as I remembered riding my bike up the perilous slope. Soon we turned down my former avenue, and I was surprised at how oddly small my old neighborhood felt. As a child, I knew every crack and bump in the road. This neighborhood was a endless sea, and my bike was a ship.
Approaching my old home with my new home in tow was like introducing an old lover to a new lover. Am I cheating? And if so, on whom?
I rang the doorbell nervously. Will they let me in? …. No answer. I had to try.
I stood in front of my two homes, weighing how different I am now than I was when I was twelve, and how my two homes reflect that change. I broke my arm in that driveway. I hammered a nail in that porch. I taught my bother to ride a bike here, but I taught myself how swing a hammer there.
In the end, I decided I love both homes. One feels like a hug. The other like comfort.
PS. We were interviewed by Dayton Daily News on our stop in Ohio. They did a full video tour and took a few photos (below). Check out the article and video here.