UPPERCASE Magazine is not one to rush through, and not just because it’s only published four times a year. It’s a magazine that’s bursting with creativity, one that must be fully read and savored.
Last week I was looking through issue 16 and learned about Finnish illustrator Emmi Jormalainen. She shared some illustrations from her book, Koti. The title is the Finnish word for home. It’s a silent artist’s book that takes the reader through 16 apartments where Emmi has lived, each chapter ending with a drawing of the view from that place.
Like Emmi, there have been a lot of physical spaces that I’ve called home. I’ve lived in 24 different structures, 26 if you count the times I spent at my cousin’s apartments when I was between places. I’ve lived in four different states, three of them multiple times. Some of these spaces felt like “home,” many of them I knew were transitory – just little spots to store myself and my stuff until I moved on to my next adventure.
I’ve lived in my current apartment for three years. The last time I lived in a space for three years was when I lived with my parents, way WAY back before I left my biological home state for the very first time.
Is it because I love this apartment? Not so much. But I do love the neighborhood and the price. We moved into this place just a few short months before Nathaniel was born. We needed to save money, the neighborhood is extremely walkable, and it was just a 10-minute bus ride to my downtown office.
We don’t have any plans to move right now. It’s only been a year since launching Inward Facing Girl as a full-time business, and it’s still developing. We could use the extra space, but this works for now. When we finally do move out, even though we’ll be more than ready, there will be some sentimental goodbyes.
This is the place where we lived when I went into labor, on the day that I first started watching Mad Men. It took a couple of years to get caught up on the series. This is the only home Nathaniel has ever known. Every single memory that we have of him will have happened while we were living here. This is the place where I became a mother, and it was really wonderful and intensely painful and I got better. This is the place where I got the courage to start living a creative life and help other people realize their own creative dreams.
But this is also the place where a single room acts as a kitchen, office, living room, dining room, and laundry room. This is a place where toys are moved aside into a heap to make room for big and little feet to walk. This is the place where we cram ourselves into the bathroom like a pack of sardines before we leave on a family adventure. This is the place where my office is a small corner of a dark bedroom.
When all is said and done, a structure is inanimate. It houses memories, but only because we’ve attached them to it.
You walk into the room where you rocked your newborn baby to sleep for the very first time, and perhaps the feelings and memories do flow a little easier because of the space you’re in. You can see where the crib used to be, and sit on the floor where you swaddled him. But you can also walk down the aisle of a supermarket, see his favorite fruit, and remember what it looked like the first time it dribbled down his tiny chin.
Home lives inside you.
And you can pack up your memories and take them with you wherever you go.