Confessions of An Existentialist

"What is a home, if not the first place that teaches you to leave?", said a tumblr post I read a few days ago. It is a fairly appropriate assessment of what the homes that we are born into mean not just the physical building, but the familiarity of it, with its people, it's ideas, its history. Many of us, if not most, want to leave our homes even when they are incredibly comfortable. Homes are the places that teach you that even comfort can be suffocating. Having said that, there's a little bit that I would like to add to the original tumblr post. Homes are the places that teach you to leave, yes. But homes are also the places that teach you to yearn. What is a home, after all, if not a craving to be understood? And so leaving it becomes such a divided act - you are so desperate to have a life that is yours, you are also so terrified to have a life that is not shared by those who you have grown up around. You are craving escape, you are terrified of it. You are craving newness, but familiarity is so gentle and tender. You leave behind what you needed to. You find a new city, a new apartment, a new life. And then you wake up in the middle of the night, because this new bed, this new bed that you chose and bought and made-this new bed does not let you sleep the same. And you ask yourself, is that a good thing or a bad thing?