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10.03.2012

homesick.


i have been homesick ever since i went home to texas this last time.

it's such a particular emotion, homesickness. unhurried and unconfused. the compass needle pointing north, unrelenting in it's message: that thing there, go there. home. a small and quiet and unyielding chant.

it's not that i've been homesick for texas so much, but homesick for home in that large and aching way that has nothing to do with place and everything to do with people.

we're not from texas, my family. i'm the closest, having been born there. but my family, well we can't count back the generations the way a lot of people can.

there's me. just me. the lone one from that lone star state.

growing up there was always an awareness of being a little bit different--a little other. of being raised in a home in which texas and its values and its history and its culture wasn't in our blood.

and so there was this perpetual sense of displacement. of a loyalty to one's self more than the place.

a ferocious sort of independence.

now, looking back, i can think of nothing more texan than that.

the state and the place and that little sense of otherness branded me. texan, indeed.

my parents are looking to buy a house as they enter this next stage of life.

there's been a lot of talk about this house. about where it should be--beach or mountains, north or west. texas and.

and being the question that must be answered.

and then there's the talk of the bones of the home. of its configuration. of how many rooms are needed and should there be two kitchens and more than one floor and the real concern there is the families my brother and i will one day have. and the children--those small and noisy and heavenly creatures that i think we all really want to fill this house on holidays and long summer nights.

but we don't talk about this explicitly. and so the house is heavy with all those things not talked of.

i am homesick for this house. homesick for the life that has yet to be built to fill it.

this will be house in which i'll be married--beach or mountains, north or west.

my parents don't know this. i've never told them this. but i imagine they'll read it now and it will worry them.

my father because he'll say that i'm putting the cart before the horse and he'll be right of course, but i also think he'll understand precisely what i mean and what i want and why it is i want what i want without me ever having to say.

my mother will read this and it will worry that soft and feminine part of her that fears i'll never find the one. she will deny this of course--say this is not a worry she caries, but we both do--mostly because it is a want we both have--her wanting it for me, me for myself. and where wanting lives, worry trails.

i want to get married in this house.

i want to get married in that place where we welcome the next generation. in the yard where my children will one day play.

and i want to say to them as they romp and fall and stumble into each passing year--there--that spot there is where your father and i did the most courageous thing a person can do anymore. where we promised to weather the worst and the best of it. where we pledged, in front of family and friends, to trade in the fairytale for that delicious and dangerous thing that a real life is.

i am homesick for a thing that is but a wish i carry. but it is true and real and the needle points north.

35 comments:

JuJu said...

Wow. Just wow. Such a great post.

Hayley said...

"Ultimately there comes a moment when a decision must be made. Ultimately two people who love each other must ask themselves how much they hope for as their love grows and deepens, and how much risk they are willing to take. It is indeed a fearful gamble. Because it is the nature of love to create, a marriage itself is something which has to be created, so that, together we become a new creature.

To marry is the biggest risk in human relations that a person can take.If we commit ourselves to one person for life this is not, as many people think, a rejection of freedom; rather it demands the courage to move into all the risks of freedom, and the risk of love which is permanent; into that love which is not possession, but participation. It takes a lifetime to learn another person. When love is not possession, but participation, then it is part of that co-creation which is our human calling, and which implies such risk that it is often rejected." - Madeleine L’Engle, "The Irrational Season"

Rachel said...

Beautiful and well written.

laurrdunn said...

this is absolutely beautiful. thank you for writing it today.

jackie said...

breathtaking.

mattie said...

Oh boy. This is my favorite thing you've ever written.

Shawnee said...

"the most courageous thing a person can do anymore..."

very well written. this made me think twice, and i wholeheartedly agree. marriage is just that.

thank you.

deconstructingthegirl said...

Really love this post and can totally relate for yearning for a place and life that has yet to happen. But one day I'm sure you will look back on your beautiful writing with a smile bc you will be there, the place you always wanted to be. Here's to the compass pointing north!

Little Tree Vintage said...

what a beautiful post.

~BB~ said...

Sometimes, the things you say just get me. And there are no words - just an evoked feeling that has no name.

"where wanting lives, worry trails not far behind."

Beautiful, Meg. Love it.

Alexa said...

"where wanting lives, worry trails not far behind."

yes.

Alexa said...

p.s. this is the best one. in my opinion, of course.

Robby Spratt said...

Wow, Meg! This is really good! I've never heard these wants and desires summarized in such a relatable way.

Diana said...

This is just beautiful.

Cassie said...

Perfect.

Beth said...

That's it. I just have to tell you that your writing is insanely beautiful. Having been recently married, I have been felt those feelings you described but could never express them so accurately and beautifully as you have done here . Thank you.
Please, never stop writing. You have such a gift and it truly inspires me as I'm sure it does many, many others. And please, don't ever give up on finding the man you'll marry. Keep that dream strong and vivid and you won't regret it.

Erin said...

beautiful. I spent a little over a year living in Texas feeling desperately homesick for Alabama.
Also, my parents have been talking about the future recently, and the possibility of moving to a new house, and all I can picture is the children I have yet to have playing in whatever backyard my parents have.

Melissa said...

Beautiful. As always, thank you for sharing. It makes my mornings full.

Alissa Anne said...

Thought you'd like to know that after reading this, I sighed and said to my girlfriend, "Meg is SUCH a good writer!" A bit in awe and a bit exasperated because I'd like to be at this point as a writer faster than it's coming. Anyhow, thank you for your honesty. You're great!

Jeneric Generation said...

This gave me chills. So beautifully said.

Jacqueline said...

such a good writer. i am so enjoying your blog. Xx

Brookette said...

thank you for believing that marriage is the most courageous thing someone can do. and for wanting to do it.

Josie said...

So beautifully written. You have quite a talent at writing things I think and feel better than I could ever summarise them, thank you for that.

colleen said...

god you are such a beautiful writer. you always find the exact words. the last paragraph - with what you whisper to your child - is perfection.

Marigold said...

Thank you.

Rincy said...

I love everything about the way you write. How true and so raw and so achingly beautiful. I wish you the same kind of love.

JENNY said...

High quality stuff - beautiful Meg

Brittany said...

this is so beautiful. and maybe one of my favorite things that you've written. i think it sums up so beautifully what a lot of us are thinking and worrying and pondering.

ophelia. said...

meg, you and i share a birthday, and every year i look forward to your "who i am at ##" post... please tell me you'll be doing one soon?

Whitney said...

so sorry you are homesick! it's such a sad feeling!

Anonymous said...

Take a chill pill homie. Meg is amazing.

Bridget said...

beautiful post, meg. writing is a gift of yours, no doubt.

Amy - Book Monster said...

I am so glad I found your blog. Your carefully chosed words are absolutely beautiful. I can't wait to read more.

kate said...

when i think i know what a post is going to be about you then jump up and smack me in the heart with something like this. this beautiful home that you will all fill, what an image, what a future, what a family. i love this. you brought tears to my eyes. thank you.

Carrie K said...

your words give voice to the things inside me...that sounds so awkward to say and i long for the voice to be able to say them myself. in the mean time know that you bring me understanding about myself and i thank you for that.