Homebodies - May 30 2023

 

Homebodies

May 30 2023

When she said homebody

I couldn’t disagree.

But I feel mixed about the word;

apologetic,

or even worse, defensive.

There's home, of course,

which is safe, warm, welcoming;

mom's cooking

comfortable slippers

your very own bed.

But to be reduced

to just a body?

A protoplasmic lump,

passive

flabby

stuck?

As if you were unimaginative,

uncurious about the world.

As if you were timorous,

too fearful

to go out into it.

As if you were fixed,

impervious to change

and smugly self-satisfied.

What they miss

is that rich inner life

that thrives no matter where you are.

Who needs novelty

when your mind contains multitudes,

and who wants to be in crowds

when all the noise

just drowns out your thoughts?

Which is so not home;

here

in my refuge

with the dog at my feet

and a book in my hand,

soft jazz

playing in the background.

As Robert Frost wrote

home is where

    . . . they have to take your in.

And as Dorothy, stranded in Oz

pined to whoever would listen

there's no place like home.

So don't we all yearn

for our own version of Kansas?

And yes, perhaps being old

has something to do with it.

Because the young

who are juiced by anything new

and afraid of missing out,

who need to sow their oats

and make mistakes

and find themselves,

will also grow up

and sooner or later

tire of the chase

and find where they belong.

When, content with settling down

they'll be happy to let you know

where they can always be found,

at home

most of the day

and almost every night.