The Heart of a Homebody [Kitten’s Ramblings]

Hi Friends!

A very happy Saturday to you. Today was one of those days. Not good nor bad, but simply there. I waited for my fingers to tingle like they usually do when creative inspiration strikes. But nothing came. My husband pushed the laptop into my hands multiple times. “Write” he said, “you’ll feel better”. But I laid there staring at the screen. My mind drew a blank. Eventually in my battle between depression and apathy, my eyelids closed and I began to nap. At last I awoke and grabbed the computer. Here I am.

tiny-home-cottage-small-homes-and-cottages-what-an-idea-for-phase-2-of-our-tiny-home-plan-stage-one-tiny-tiny-home-cottage-ontario
I dream of building a tiny home just like this πŸ™‚

Today I want to write about being a homebody.

I come from a long line of people who I like to dub “go go go” people. They thrive on cramming things into their weekend. They seem to get a high out of a packed schedule, and scarcely remember where they put things in their house because they are hardly ever at home.

I’m not one of those people. No, I’m definitely a homebody.

Perhaps my love of being a homebody stems from the fact that I’ve rarely had a home. After moving around most of my life, I’ve come to appreciate a quiet nook, a few simple things, and the people that I love. My home is mobile. But still, I enjoy being at home. I love the concept of a “staycation”. Not that I don’t love to travel, because I do. (Though the actual act of traveling can be a royal pain in the bum, but I digress). A “staycation” is more my speed. Stock up the pantries with our favorite food. Finally get around the watching those shows on Netflix, and let’s take a walk outside to enjoy the sun. That’s good enough for me. I really do enjoy a quiet, simple life.

Perhaps my love of being quiet stems from the fact that I’ve rarely had the beauty of silence.

After growing up in a tumultuous home, I was on my own by the time I was 18. I had to learn on my own how to communicate without yelling. I had to figure out the hard way how corrosive anger can be. Now, in my 30’s, I just prefer a peaceful life. A quiet life. Away from the rat race of those around me. I watch the cars whisk by, some speeding into oblivion, and I give thanks that I’m not out there. I much prefer my tiny, hidey hole of an existence, away from all of the noise. Give me a cozy bed, a warm cup of tea, an interesting book, and I’m a happy girl. It’s really that simple.

Once upon a time I longed to join the Peace Corps. I wanted to travel the world, meet a ton of different people, see all kinds of things, and fill my passport with stamps of every kind. But now, I think I’m content to just carve out a tiny place in the world to call my own. A place to finally mark as home. I want a small patch of dirt to stake my claim, and make it magical. πŸ™‚ That’s good enough for me.

How about you? Is anyone else out there a homebody?

Thanks for listening my friends. You all are truly the best. Until next time!

Much love,

~Kitten xx

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