home: the place you always go back to

Last night I met the new future Mrs. H. She was petite and brunette and so cute and sweet-looking, she was exactly the type of girl/woman you couldn’t hate if you wanted to.

I wasn’t expecting to meet her. I was at Dexter’s house, the house I formerly called my home. They weren’t supposed to be there. I was there picking up the last of my things.

But then I heard them, they were there in the house, and I began a mad rush of expediting the retrieval of my belongings . I didn’t want to see her. I didn’t want to talk to her. I didn’t want to have any sense of knowing her. I just wanted to get out of there…EJECT…EJECT…EJECT. And so I did. My mother was with me, helping me, if only to serve as my pillar of repose. As I hurried down the stairs, we all collided, me, Dexter, my mother, and HER. But I didn’t stop, even though the new Mrs. H did, standing there, eagerly, with the hope of civility. I know she wanted more than anything to meet the woman who had formerly occupied Dexter’s heart and home.

But I literally bolted out the door and was in the car before I realized I left it behind. I had to go back inside.

And so I did, and there she was, almost waiting for me expectantly, looking at me with that sympathetically sweet hopeful expression of an introduction.

I simply said hi, without extending my hand for an introduction. She knew who I was and I knew who she was and I saw no point in polite conversation. I calmly grabbed what I came back for and walked towards my exit. But before I got to the door, I stopped, turned, and looked around. “This was my home. All of this,” I said waving and looking around, “I made it a home.”

That was my dream last night, which is why I woke up in the morning feeling so uncentered. Eventually I will have to come face-to-face with the new Mrs. H and it will be a stark reminder that I have been replaced. I am replaceable. But so is Dexter, I just haven’t done so.

Right now, I don’t really have a home. When I first met Dexter, after he sold his house and was living in a corporate apartment, I asked him pointedly, “Where’s your home?” My fear was he was blindly embracing our relationship because he didn’t have one – a home, a foundation. And two months later, I was moving in, making a home for him. A month after that, he decided to make DC his home and he bought a house and moved everything here and his home became my home. It was easy for me to do, because I didn’t have to commit to it. It wasn’t truly my home.

It’s been almost a year since I moved out and I still don’t have a home. Three contracts later and months of searching and I still can’t pull the trigger. I can’t commit to a home, just like I struggle to commit to relationships. What if something better comes along? Will one house ever be everything I want? Will one man? Tastes changes, people change, life is change. My unrelenting standards always propel me forward, to do better, to be better. Will I ever create something I can always go back to? Am I always moving forward, or am I simply running away?

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