One of my favorite songs is about my adopted home state and recorded by The Accidentals, who know it better than most.
“Michigan and Again”, the band told NPR, came out of a crowd-funding effort for a tour:
“We kind of struggled coming up with a concept, a concise concept to describe where we come from,” Buist told NPR. “It just got the point where there’s so much to say, it’s easier to describe what it’s like to come home.”
From childhood to college to career and beyond, we all live in many homes. I’ve had my fair share–if 36 is a fair share.
Six years ago, I made the Mother of All Moves, gave away and sold almost everything I owned to downsize from a 1,000-square-foot apartment to a 250-square-foot, furnished studio.
For the first time, I had to make hard choices, to determine the true value of my things.
I kept only books written by friends or about topics near and dear to my heart. The rest went to the library. A much loved but worn leather couch, a king-sized bed, most of my kitchen items, anything I hadn’t touched or looked at in more than six months, went to people who needed them more than I did.
Only clothes and a few mementos, a bit of kitchenware, boxes of photos, a rocking chair older than I am, my most beloved books, a laptop, and a cedar jewelry box full of memories ended up in my friend’s SUV.
The tiny studio is now in my rear view mirror. I live in a space with real rooms, so I bought real furniture. A loveseat. A bed. A desk. Bookshelves. Chairs.
It’s starting to look and feel comfortable but hasn’t felt quite right, I think, because I haven’t written more than a handful of creative words in almost a year.
So this is me packing up my best works in progress and the editing left undone for so long and the snippets of powerful ideas tucked inside Evernote folders. This is me tossing my fear of failure and fear of success, my imposter syndrome and not-quite-good-enoughs, my writer’s blocks and need for external validation.
This is me, writing. It’s the home I come back to again and again and again.