Hey there Reader,
Many years ago, I dreamed of being a published romance writer.
For about ten years, I wrote a lot and read even more in the romance genre.
One thing that always struck me was the emotional weight the hero and heroine would put on the word home.
The hero would say something about going home, except the home he was talking about was the heroine’s place, and inside she'd be losing it with excitement.
Because this was big.
He hadn’t said he was going back to her house.
He’d called it home.
I understood what the author was trying to convey, but I’ve always found the idea of home interesting.
I’ve never lived in a house for more than five years. As a result, I’ve lived in a lot of houses.
There isn’t a family home I return to. I don’t have a childhood bedroom that still exists somewhere, waiting for me to go back to it. No single building contains the story of my life.
Perhaps that’s partly why I keep coming back to the question:
What actually makes a home a home?
Is it a place?
A person?
A way of being?
Is it the objects and memories we accumulate around us or somewhere we feel that we belong?
Ben and I went to see The Odyssey last weekend.
I studied it at university, so there was something particularly enjoyable about seeing a story I’d first encountered on the page brought to life on the big screen.
A spoiler warning here if you’re planning to see it.
Odysseus goes to war and then spends years trying to return to Ithaca. His voyage is repeatedly interrupted and prolonged by the gods, but throughout it all, home remains the destination.
And yet, when he finally gets there, events mean he can’t stay. In the film, he leaves Ithaca again, and this time Penelope goes with him.
And he’s happy to go.
Which raises an interesting question: after everything he endured to get home, what was he actually trying to get back to?
Was home Ithaca? Or was home Penelope?
Many of us use house and home almost interchangeably. But they are not the same.
A house is tangible. It gives us shelter, a place for our possessions and the physical setting for our everyday lives.
A home is more.
It’s knowing where to reach for the coffee cup when your eyes are blurred with sleep. It’s being surrounded by objects that have travelled with you from one stage to the next. It’s having somewhere to retreat when you need quiet, somewhere to gather with the people you love, and somewhere where you can fully be yourself.
In those ways, a home nurtures us, supports the way we want to live, reflects something of who we are, and gives us a sense of belonging.
Perhaps that’s why home can sometimes feel like a person as much as a place. Penelope isn’t simply someone Odysseus loves. She’s part of the life in which he knows who he is and where he belongs.
And that makes home deeply connected to wellbeing.
Considering how much money, time and energy we spend buying, decorating, cleaning and maintaining our houses, perhaps it’s worth thinking about what we’re actually trying to create.
We can decorate a house beautifully according to the latest trends and still miss the things that turn it into a home.
Because perhaps the real question isn’t simply, Does this look good?
It’s: Does this nurture me, support the way I want to live, and reflect something of who I am?
🪞 Something to consider
What makes somewhere feel like home to you?
And does the place you live now contain enough of those things?
🧭 Try this
Notice one moment this week when you feel particularly at home.
Pay attention to what’s around you.
Where are you? Who are you with? What are you doing? What is it about that moment that allows you to settle?
Rather than deciding what home should mean, see what your own life tells you.