In our lives we have many significant relationships that help to define us and shape who we are. There are the relationships we have with our family and friends, the relationship we have with ourselves and for some of us the relationship we have with shopping! But there is another critical relationship that we have, that we often underestimate the importance of, the relationship we have with our homes. Our home is somewhere we escape to at the end of a difficult day, it holds our bed we cry in, the kitchen where friends meet to dry those tears and holds both our physical and emotional memories.
During our late teens and twenties a home is a just a house as in 'house party', somewhere to meet up with friends and strangers alike as long as the vino is flowing. Student digs with damp walls and mould seem to be a rite of passage into adulthood that we must all adhere to. Walls hold posters of icons and films, the fridge is void of any solid food, except a block of cheese sporting a designer (faux) fur coat and even the ice cube trays are filled with vodka. No one cares that the curtains are filthy or that there are no curtains at all (I once lived in a house where newspaper was used to cover the windows!). Hoovers hide under the stairs broken, mattresses are thrown on the floor in an attempt to make make shift beds and the only bin that is ever used is the glass/tin can recycling one! Even in the few years after uni, houses just weren’t that important as long as it was near the town centre and there was enough space for your ever growing shoe collection. Who cared that the crockery didn’t match, the tea towels were filthy and the bathroom was never clean?
During our late teens and twenties a home is a just a house as in 'house party', somewhere to meet up with friends and strangers alike as long as the vino is flowing. Student digs with damp walls and mould seem to be a rite of passage into adulthood that we must all adhere to. Walls hold posters of icons and films, the fridge is void of any solid food, except a block of cheese sporting a designer (faux) fur coat and even the ice cube trays are filled with vodka. No one cares that the curtains are filthy or that there are no curtains at all (I once lived in a house where newspaper was used to cover the windows!). Hoovers hide under the stairs broken, mattresses are thrown on the floor in an attempt to make make shift beds and the only bin that is ever used is the glass/tin can recycling one! Even in the few years after uni, houses just weren’t that important as long as it was near the town centre and there was enough space for your ever growing shoe collection. Who cared that the crockery didn’t match, the tea towels were filthy and the bathroom was never clean?
But somewhere in our mid twenties, around the time relationships become serious, employers start promoting us and week day nights are not so much of a party, our homes become important. Suddenly it matters the bathroom is squeaky clean, the curtains are up and match the decor of the room and that our mugs are clean (and without chips). After a long day at work nothing feels better any more than coming home to a clean kitchen (complete with a full fridge), settling on to a warm comfy sofa and sleeping in a proper bed. Weekends that were spent choosing the latest Jimmy Choo’s with a hangover are now spent browsing at Le Creuset and coordinating bedroom furniture, whilst sipping Starbucks. Scatter cushions become a matter of interest, feature walls are the discussions of lunch breaks and even the suggestion of a garden is muttered between friends.
But how does this all happen? How do we go from living in houses to having a home? Is it a sign of getting old and losing our young, fun loving selves? Or was it that maybe these home loving traits were always there as a secret yearning inside of us that we had managed to suppress? Or is turning into home makers something inevitable we will all succumb to at some point in our lives?
For me choosing which home to live in and how to decorate it is like finding the perfect pair of shoes. It has to be a perfect fit at the perfect price. A home should be like your favourite pair of jeans or your oldest, dearest friend – relaxing, comfortable, reassuring and makes you feel content. As I began to pack my bags this week in preparation for my impending move I reflected on the places I had lived, what they had meant to me and the memories made there. From student hovels, tiny one bed flats, house shares and beautiful four bed converted chapels I have certainly had many home affairs. Like all affairs though some have left me wanting more, some have made me cry and some have left me with happy memories that will last a life time. So, this time, as I pack up my heels and my heart for yet another house move I can’t help but start to feel a flicker of excitement mixed in with my sadness, after all every new apartment needs a new pair of shoes!
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