I received two texts from family friends a few months ago, both asking me to watch their dogs. Both jobs lasted two weeks and they were back-to-back. I took both jobs. I like dogs and could really use the money. The first job was closer to home, the second one was farther away. For someone who is ready for life to “start” in the sense that I can get a nice job, move somewhere away from home, and gain a little more independence, these jobs felt like a nice way to do a trial run for that.
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I have had an issue since some point in my time at college where my house does not feel like home to me anymore. I would go back under the impression that I felt homesick, only to leave feeling the same. This was a frustrating feeling, as parts of my college residences felt like home to me, but not enough to fully hold me. Both there and at home I had people there to love and support me and spaces that I had made my own. And yet, the walls that enclosed me felt like just that: walls. Myself and the spaces I lived in felt like two entire separate entities, never fully connecting. Leaving college and coming home full time felt like a race to get out just so i could get somewhere that was truly mine.
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Make yourself at home! My house is yours for two weeks!
I found my body melting into their cushions and my flesh melting into a lazy routine.
The houses I found myself in were lovely and their dogs were equally as such. I had put myself into the homes of others for a month and found that their walls were uniquely their own. Less like a mash of things that they were attempting to be, but rather things they knew they were. A room of house plants. A kitchen so organized it felt criminal to move anything out of place. A bar and pool table in the basement. Books on death and plants and politics scattered across the room. Personalized beds and yards that oozed of love and belonging for their respective owners. So, if the houses were so lovely, why was I struggling to make myself at home even for a moment?
It would seem I do not know how to feel at home anymore.
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Each day, I would sit and think about what is waiting for me when my life starts. The dogs would need to go out. I would turn on my laptop and the television. The dogs would come in. I would sit. The dogs would need food. I would feed them.
This routine was okay my first two weeks. By the last half of my dog sitting month, my routine began to feel more depressing. Nothing changed because of the house I was in, I remained stagnant. My mind and body realized this and I slipped into a depression. I felt homesick, but for what?
The dogs had to go outside. They ran around their yards. I watched from behind the glass. I hate how grass feels on my feet and it was far too hot to join them anyway.
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For years, I have been homesick for a home I have never lived in under the impression that one of these days, my life will finally start. Always sitting at the runner’s block, waiting for the race to start after years of never running. The starter’s gun sits on the turf. It has never been held.
Life started the day I was born. The moment I took my first breath and let out my first cries was the moment my life started. I have been living since I could feel the warmth of a blanket around me. My mother singing at the piano. My father’s cooking. My sister’s babbling and my brother’s video games. I have been living through all of it. I have seen the sea. I have fallen and felt the sting of concrete on my skin only to get up again. I have stopped to take pictures of bugs, admiring something I once believed to be ugly. My heart has ached and I have sobbed over womanhood, grief, self-realization, and everything else. I have sat with my best friend and cried at movies and listened to music and been held by the person I love. I have always been living.
Realizing that my life doesn’t start the moment I decide it does stopped me in my tracks and slowed me down. Things will work out. I will continue living, like I always have, just differently.
Since I have been home, it has been nice to be in my own bed surrounded by the walls of my home.
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Watching dogs for a whole month wasn’t all bad. I got to be around some cute creatures. I made myself new meals. I watched more One Piece. I read a book all the way through for the first time in ages.
I lived through it.
Photo by James Barker on Unsplash
