Home

Jack B Mills
1 min readAug 6, 2021

Dropping off the truck at a friend’s who lets us park there when we are staying somewhere that doesn’t have room for two cars, I got in the car with Barbara and said, “Let’s go home,” which is funny because we don’t have one. So I laughed at myself and tried to see what I could have meant, what feeling I was pointing toward that I called “home.”

I’ve thought of it before, long ago, when we were first married and we fixed up a bus and drove across the country for three months looking for a place to settle down. Home was where the bed was, or where my partner was, and it moved.

It’s easy to see when you are doing it, hard to believe when you are entitled in your property, but it is a freeing thought.

Home is today, the next several hours, where I can take off my shoes, be vulnerable, contemplate with my partner what we will do next. It may be that I will one day learn to shrink it down to just now, and to right here, without any extras. That would be something.

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