Home Is Where the Hook Is

Everyone has their own definition of “home.”  It is an incredibly rich topic; I enjoyed polling friends and family:  what is home to you?

The number one, most common answer:  Where my things are.  Surrounding ourselves with material things to find “home” may seem shallow.  But, it turns out all those bits and pieces I didn’t lug onboard, they might be sacred after all.  It’s not about the material things are made of, wood gold or glass, it’s what they remind us of– achievements, loved ones, goals.

Number two: Where my family is.  Many people said they felt at home when they were with their spouse, children, or their dog.  “Home” can be about relationships, regardless of place.  Other people combine the place they grew up with relationships– where you remember Sissy and Gramps being, where you have family bonding and belonging.  This popular definition doesn’t resonate with me, though Santa Cruz and Oostburg are great places to be from, I haven’t got roots.

Another popular answer: Where I’m comfortable.  Comfort is without surprise.  Routines allow disconnection from planning and relaxation into familiarity.  Having a routine schedule, like having material things, is something I let go of when I boarded The Black Pearl.  And my oh my I do love the slow goodness of the morning.  That is my favorite part of the day, and also the only part where I follow a routine.  Breathe, stretch, sip coffee, read.  Without structure and routine, it’s easy to get wound up and lose track of your direction.

Familiarity (note:  familial) is linked to comfort—stability, safety, ease.  Call me boring, but I like to surf the same break on the same board.  Surfing my new board in So Cal feels less safe, less easy (definitely less stable), but often more fun, and always more challenging.  Like my friend who never wants to hike the same trail twice, some of us seek challenges.  An old trail is familiar.  If it’s easy, are you growing?  Is there room, at home, for growth?  Why stop short, why have a ceiling on my home?   No ceiling, and no fences.  Dan made me promise we’d never live behind a white picket fence.  Challenge leads to growth.

My favorite answers:  Where I can escape everything and everyone, home is a sanctuary.  Where I get a good night’s sleep.  Post a comment, let me know what home is for you.

Where is my heart?  That’s where “home” should be.  It’s with Dan.  And with spirited, wild nature.  My heart likes dark leafy greens.  Home is cornmeal crust pizzas loaded with vegetables and French pressed coffee topped with almond cream—these are familiar things that give me comfort.  Odd but true, my home is with kale.  And fog.  Give me cool weather, fresh produce, my man and spirited nature– I am home.  Home is where the hook is.

6 Comments for “Home Is Where the Hook Is

  1. Pauline says:

    If you miss you giraffe, I am taking good care of him! And home on a French canal for a week or two was pretty good. Miss you both.

    1. Kristy Finstad says:

      We miss you too! Next vacation: South Pacific…

  2. Celeste says:

    This is AWESOME!!!

    1. Kristy Finstad says:

      Thanks for checking in, Free Spirit! Dip in Cruz’s Pacific for me.

  3. Bob Miller says:

    Love it Kristy, you two made the right choice. So glad you’re living your dream. Earn it everyday with a grateful heart. Something to ponder, “some paths will not forget you, some roads remember footsteps”

    1. Kristy Finstad says:

      Thanks for your support! I hope you puddle jump with us!

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