No place like home

Once upon a time there was a house.
A beautiful house.
Being in this house felt like home.

At first the house had very little furniture.
But there was just enough to feel like home.
The windows of the house overlooked into a beautiful horizon.
A warm inviting sunlight was shining thru the windows.
And when the windows were open you could smell the flowers and breathe the fresh air from the outside.

Being inside this house felt very cozy and homey.
You really didn’t need anything else.
Just being there was enough.
Food, in the kitchen.
A comfortable bed in the bedroom.
A playroom.
If you were to go inside the playroom you could feel the excitement and the adventure there.
There was everything you needed.

There was no other home like it.
One of a kind.

At first it was fun living there.
It felt great.
As I grew up a bit, I visited my friends’ houses. I noticed what they have and what they like and I also started noticing what I don’t have.
My friends also visited my home and expressed their opinion about what I have. Suddenly I was afraid not to be liked by my friends. So, I decided I wanted to be more like them. So they would still like me.
I thought to myself if I replace the old stuff around the house and get more stuff, then my house would be just like everybody else’s house.

So, I began replacing what I had and bringing more stuff in. Hoping that will satisfy me and my friends.

When I was finished I couldn’t recognize my own house.
It was different. It was more like everybody else’s house.
But there was something else different besides the looks of it.

Something that I couldn’t quite put my finger on it…

As the years passed by. I was constantly changing and replacing the stuff around the house.

Redecorating moving stuff around.

Until one day I realized that I’m unhappy. I looked around and saw the stuff that didn’t interest me anymore I saw the same old rooms in the same old house.

I realized that I grew tired of living in this house, that’s why I’m unhappy, and it’s time to move.

So, I found a different house unlike my old house and began packing.

As I took my old stuff out of the house.
Suddenly when I looked at my bare windows, I noticed a familiar feeling inside of me.
I could see the same horizon, that I saw as a kid thru these windows.
That’s strange I thought to myself. How come I didn’t feel like this before?
The windows were always there.
Oh… that’s right they were covered most of the time by my Victorian curtains.

When I looked around I could see that the whole space was lightened by the sunlight coming from the windows.
Just as it was when I was a kid, I thought to myself again.

So, I opened the windows to let the air in, while continuing to move out the boxes.

Last room remained, was the guest room.
As I was finishing moving out the last boxes from the guest room.
I could see the remaining spaciousness in the room.
That reminded me of the time it was actually a playroom when I was a kid.
And suddenly I was overwhelmed by a feeling.
A feeling I didn’t have for a long, long time.
A feeling of home.
Cozy childhood home.
When there was not much there but it felt great.
It felt like me.
I remembered what it was like, to feel like me.
It felt like home.

We abandon ourselves as kids.
Sacrifice our childhood.
Our innocence.
Our unique nature.
In favor of society.
Other people’s opinions of us.
Forgetting what it is like to be home.
Filling our lives with stuff we don’t really want.
Filling our minds with thought, opinions and beliefs, that we don’t really need.
Just to feel safe around others.
Just to be accepted by others.
Thinking that if we’re not like them then we’re somehow not ok.

Distancing ourselves from ourselves, from being at home with ourselves.

Our home doesn’t need fancy stuff.
It doesn’t need our complicated minds and thoughts.
It doesn’t need us to behave like someone else.
It only need us.
And we only need it. Without all the stuff.
We need it to be home.

Because there is no place like home.

With love,
Boris.

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