Thoughts of home

Do you ever have one of those moments when you’re walking along, and you just feel kind of… small? And far away? Not in a sad way, more in a factual, recognition way.

I was walking back from the gym earlier and had one of those moments. The weather’s meant to get really nasty overnight, snow and hail and ice and general eurgh-why-would-you-do-this-to-my-hair type weather, so I’d left Mum a message saying I’d keep an eye on the trains tomorrow, in case any delays get announced. I’m going back for the weekend, just to decorate the tree and things, but I reckon the weather’s going to throw some sleety spanners in the works. I was thinking about how Mum will probably start worrying now, about ‘Sally in Cardiff’, and how I don’t live at home any more. At all. I’ve been in Cardiff for years.

I know this is all obvious stuff. But I was just thinking about what it’s like for families once they get spread out round the country. Thinking of us Taylors as little dots on a map. It really is this kind of time of year that brings people back together.

Thinking about my housemates as I rounded the corner to ours, I realised I’m kind of the one most settled here. I know Penny’s been here longer than me, and has at least another year left of her PhD, and Emily has a job here too, though I don’t know how long she’s planning to do it for, but I’m here for the forseeable, in comparison. Even my boyfriend, my real link to Cardiff, will be heading back up North come the summer.  I’m really tied in. Despite the fact that I’m not from here, my family don’t live here, a lot of my friends don’t live here…  This is my fifth year now; if it gets to seven I’ll have lived here for as long as I was at secondary school!

I’m so glad I got a job here, though. Cardiff may not be my ‘home’ but I know it here, I like it here. I was at uni here, I grew up here, in a way. It’s a home from. I can’t imagine having moved home after uni, then having got a job on the other side of the country and having to just move. Now that’s uprooting. They might not go as deep as the ones that take me back to Bournemouth, but here I’ve got roots.

I guess it just comes down to the difference between where you live, and where you consider your home. Bournemouth’s always going to be home; you ‘go home’ don’t you, back from wherever you’ve flown the nest to.

I guess this is what it’s like when you finally really are a ‘young professional’, and Christmas is the time you get to fly back!

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