Throughout my childhood, I longed to leave Chattanooga, and the South. I thought it was the manifestation of all my problems. In my teens, I found myself making a home in NYC, the place I had longed to live. Yearning for city-scapes and urban philosophies. Year after year, I would make trips to the Tennessee mountains. All my youthful resentment for the South were calmed after gathering for late night breakfast at the Waffle House and overhearing the long comforting country drawl. I could slow down, my walking pace would calm, I could breath.
By a twist of fate, I found myself living in Tennessee again. I spent my first year back in Chattanooga planning my move away. Then I remembered those anxiety filled days of being caught in the swift social winds of New York City. Constantly fighting to find my place and make my own way but never gaining ground. In Tennessee, I wasn't fighting - I was just floating. Slowly this floating turned my nomadic tendencies into hibernating. Making a home and being at home.
Just like we wear our personalities on our sleeves - entering someone's home is experiencing their world. Switching lenses for awhile. Seeing how they hibernate and where they are themselves - unveiled and relaxed. Often I wonder what my home says about me. Am I inviting? Am I messy? Am I thoughtful?