When you know you’re home
Finding home in the littlest of moments is unsurprising.
Raking the garden and feeling the warmth that’s left in Hobart’s April sun.
Listening to my love as he taps out the beat to the crescendo of the song he’s enjoying somewhere else in the house.
Sitting here at the computer, looking over rooftops and industry to Mount Direction and feeling at peace with time passing.
I once wrote, it’s where I decide to love that’s home. And that’s Hobart.
But people say you’re not a local unless you’re born here.
An interloper, I put down roots anyway. I didn’t do it alone. I decided to have a family. But not the conventional type, it was one that I chose, and who chose me. Over the years, some of us have grown apart, some of us have grown closer.
A few weeks back one of my closest loved ones died.
And I realised that my connection with Hobart was no longer an act of will. It wasn’t something I decided. To put family to rest here means I will always be deeply connected with this place, to this land, which they are a part of. I realised that it has made me and Hobart, inseparable.
What surprised me was finding home is in the biggest moments too.
If you enjoyed this post you might also like:
What home means to me which has links to the entire series of posts written on home