Home Is A Feeling

Words on home + the record of the week

I don’t love where I live right now. It could be that I’ve been here too long, or it could be that the luxury cars drag racing down my block at 2am are a soundtrack I’ve not gotten used to. But it is home. 

It’s better than my first apartment. The kitchen sink was in the hallway. My landlord, who lived below me, wore a Journey lanyard, as though she was on tour with them. She was not. She worked at the bank.

At least I had personal space in that apartment. That was a big deal after leaving the touring world, where I shared a Ford Econoline van with five other guys. Personal space was limited to my backpack back then — both its contents, and the 2 foot radius around it. I got lucky, as my bandmates were all pretty much neat freak mama’s boys. I once saw another band’s van, and you couldn’t see the floor because it looked like a paper mache art project constructed out of fast food wrappers. 

Photo by Emily Driskill

Then there was the East Hampton winter rental, where I scored a deal on a house that typically rented for six times (no exaggeration) what I paid for it once summer hit. I had turkey fowl and deer in my backyard, and a blanket of snow covered the property for much of my stay. There was nothing around me other than a Mexican deli, which I thought was a strange place to have such a thing until I realized that there was no one out there during winter except me and the laborers who maintained all those multi-million dollar properties. That was such a great deli. It was the first time I tried Cotija. The snow eventually melted, and May saw an influx of people who looked very different from me. I remember driving into town to buy a coffee on my last week there and witnessing a 70-something-year-old man in an expensive suit and sunglasses say to a 20-something-year-old blonde, “Baby, I’ll give you whatever you want,” as he squeezed her ass. And I thought, yes, it’s time for me to go now.

Visitors at the East Hampton rental

Then there was the place in Long Beach, NY. I hadn’t been there long when Hurricane Sandy knocked on our door. The neighbor said the evacuation was blown out of proportion. He’d seen it all, and he said nothing was going to happen. I hope that man did not have a first-floor apartment like me, as my place was turned into a fish tank. I’ll never forget the water line across the TV that hung on the wall. 5 feet of water. My DVD of “Silence of the Lambs” had floated from the living room to the bathroom, where it settled in the tub once the water returned to the bay. I had a diabetic and blind dog who I didn’t want to force to swim to safety in the event that the worst came true, so I’d heeded the evacuation order. My landlord was cool. He rebuilt the place quicker than anyone in town. I moved my stuff back in while watching men in hazmat suits clean out the house next door. I liked that apartment. Both the versions before and after the storm.

My block the morning after Hurricane Sandy

There were other places I called home after that. My first apartment in LA had an alien-themed mural on the side of the building that was poorly painted by one of the tenants, and a neighbor across the hall who was obsessed with WWII, but more specifically Eva Braun. It was really bizarre. She talked about her constantly. I did not like that place. There was also the RV that I drove to get out here. And the two bedroom apartment I shared with my friend once my ex and I split. I didn't want to mess with his stuff since he'd been there before me, but the decor was wild. There was a menorah and an Alex Grey print. That was about it.

Those were all home I suppose. At one point or another. And yet, I still say, “I’m going home for the holidays,” when speaking of New York. I don’t know why. It just rolls off the tongue. Adriana will ask, “Do you want to go home?” when speaking of an Airbnb or hotel when we’re on a weekend trip. I never question it. It feels natural to me. 

And so, when I sought out to make a video about home, I had to figure out what it meant to me. Past all the cliches about the heart and family, and beyond the allegiances to states or cities or towns that raised me. It took me a while, to be honest. It took me much longer to figure out what home is to me than it did to make the video itself. Some of the places above never felt like home. Others, I was sad to leave. Ultimately, it’s a feeling. It’s never been a place. There’s solace in that understanding. It gives me both something to appreciate and something to chase. I like that.

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THE RECORD CLUB

Last week’s selection was Sabrina Carpenter - Short n’ Sweet (2024)

You can find my ramblings on last week’s record in the comment section below.

This week’s selection is…

Week #14
Sharon Van Etten - Remind Me Tomorrow (2019)