How long does it take to feel that an area, building, or community are “home”? How many seasons, characters, or incidents must one see, before the click of familiarity finally convinces one that this place is how and where one wants to be?
From my questions, it doesn’t take genius to appreciate that I am not in that place as yet. I wonder if it is possible to lose one’s sense of home and belonging, never to regain it – even if one returns to a space which once encompassed that component?
These notions are particularly weighing upon my thoughts, due to being asked recently (by folk unknown to each other), whether I am happy with my life. The question, on each occasion, completely flummoxed me as I answered, honestly, “What does happiness have to do with anything?”
In common with every other responsible adult I have encountered, I constantly and consistently fulfil my obligations – hopefully with enthusiasm and a lack of resentment – and snatch fleeting moments of happiness along the way. It is true that I miss (dreadfully) so much of what is past – including the elusive “taken-for-granted” sensation of familiarity, belonging and loyalty – but this is “the new normal” which must be lived and lived.
A life of happiness is the reward of the chosen few who have made far better long term decisions than I. I shall continue to revel in my captured moments of bliss, and live well enough; I will not allow the mid-life quest for personal happiness (as utterly enticing as it is) to divert my efforts from simply putting one foot in front of the other, to keep the show on the road. The world is full of the detritus of lives wrecked by that all-encompassing, irresponsible and fruitless pursuit.
Being able to face oneself in the mirror is priceless. Remember that.
