Home is a good place to be, in spite of my struggle with this house. Home is where my heart is housed. My safety is locked up in the eyes and arms and smiles of those I love. My stuff is here. We develop such a connection to our things. For me, it is truly not an idol thing. I do not worship my stuff. I do not “need” it. I simply find comfort in it. I putz around with my jewelry. It is not expensive. It is just what I have collected, pieces that have caught my eye, meant something to me. I put my clothes and socks away and unpack my cosmetic bag and hair dryer and curling iron and brush and comb. They are not completely organized. They are not completely convenient. But they are mine and knowing the familiarity is there and my stuff is where I am used to seeing it, well…there is some weird satisfaction with that. As I age, I do want to be mindful to not let those comfortable habits become rigid ones. I know I must remain flexible and nimble and that will serve me well as I continue on this journey of perceived consistency.