My Home

Not many people come to my home. No sign says, "stay out." Yet they know not to come. I'm shy about having them. The invitations are subtle and spontaneous. They often take people by surprise. Maybe my unconscious hides the offers that way with purpose, knowing that most people will likely decline. Though I wish others here, I worry about their coming. I need to know that I will not disappoint. I need to know that they will not disarm.

Yet moments happen when I need someone to share my home--slight and spontaneous occasions when the light from the hills, or the moon on the lake, is too grand and too beautiful for me to bear. Those times are rare. They occur almost magically with friends who know to come despite how forbidding my home might seem. My home has room for one or two friends at a time. It is a private home. It was built to be that way.

Sometimes I find myself wishing my home could be like others. Yet I understand deeply why it cannot. Other homes would not fit me, because I am too tall.

—me strauss Letting me be