House and home. I love that in English there are two words to describe the concept of a roof over your head. We only have a word for that in Italian: casa. And it could be a house, an apartment, or a home.

I like that house is a place, but home is a feeling. And, if we all know what a house is, home could be different for everyone. My ideal image of a house is an old wooden farmhouse with a porch and a messy yard. Lots of flowers and plants free to grow where they want. A pond full of goldfish and waterlilies. Some birdhouses on the trees. 

Inside, I’d like warm lights and a cozy atmosphere. Mixed styles and furniture. Pieces from my life and my past or someone else’s past and some modern objects. I want every piece of furniture to tell a story. On the walls, many pictures and paintings. When I was a little girl, I loved how my grandma’s apartment was so full of paintings that you couldn’t see the white in between. I want soft blankets and natural textiles. A huge bookshelf with all the books and the music I love. A vintage piano, where I could finally take piano classes again, after so many years. I love cooking and my dream is a big kitchen in a screened porch facing the garden. I want any possible gadget to cook, like a kneader or the little blowtorch for crème brulée. Lots of kitch mugs from my travels. A small bedroom with a giant bed in it. Cats on top of it, to keep it warm.

This is the house I want. I already have a lot of the objects I will put in it. I also thought so many times about finding something affordable and buying a place for myself. But, then, whenever I was close to doing it, I got cold feet. Would it make a difference? Is an empty house a home?

What a home is, has always been my main quest in life, as it was never a continuative feeling for me. I felt at home only a few times in my life, and most of these times, the feeling didn’t last long. I guess home is something different for each of us. It could be a specific house, family, your hometown, your job, or close friends. Or all these things. 

For me, it was a feeling I mainly had with people or some specific situation. I used to feel at home in my car listening to music (back when I had a car) or when I go to the restaurant and order my childhood favorites. When I listen to a specific song, like I’ll Try Anything Once by The Strokes or watch the movies I loved as a kid.

But it was never a place, a specific city. For some reason, I never felt like I belonged to a specific place or that I could really feel at home for a prolonged period when I was out of a relationship and without a family. That’s why I moved so many times. I always thought, that if I couldn’t feel at home, at least I could feel the adventure. Or maybe I was exactly looking for that, a home through the adventure. Maybe I could find a person who was out there looking for the same thing and wanted to join me in my search.

A lot of people told me I should stop and build roots at some point, and I really wish this feeling would come one day. But I just feel that if I have to settle down alone, then I may as well just keep moving and see the world. Maybe moving could be a sort of home too. Or maybe life could be a long journey to go home. I just haven’t arrived there yet. There was this recurring dream I used to have. I saw a house on a hill in the distance and I knew I had to go there, I knew I would be safe once there. I had to cross the forest, walk, ride a horse, it was different anytime. But still now, I only remember the part where I was going and the brief relief I felt when I arrived. I just never felt that prolonged safety.

How to find home then? I came to learn that it requires patience. Maybe it’s not a rational path that can lead you there, but it’s rather like a treasure hunt. You have to keep your eyes open for the clues and follow what feels right. It’s not just about the heart. Following the head is crucial as well. Even if I think they should always go hand in hand, if you want to go somewhere, feelings and thoughts should collaborate and not contrast each other. A friend of mine told me once “You can’t settle, until you settle”- meaning that you can’t force yourself to feel like you belong before you have the conditions to feel it. I agree with her.

Feeling at home for me comes through love and by doing what gives me joy. Loving people that are important to me is home and so is writing which is something I can do everywhere.

This is what I have for the moment, maybe one day I’ll be able to reach the house on the hill of my dreams.