Yesterday I was reminded that its people that make a house, a home.
I’ve been catching up on yard work – and the yard is starting to look better. It doesn’t have the polish it used to have. But it looks nice. I’m sure my neighbors appreciate the effort. I’d been neglecting the yard for quite a while.
Living alone in a nice home feels a bit like having a nice meal alone. There are no “tables for one” at The French Laundry. Some experiences just don’t make sense unless they are shared.
In recent years, instead of doing yard work I’ve done work on my workshop projects. At nice restaurants over the past few years, I always eat at the bar. Maybe working in my workshop is about the same as eating at the bar.
For over a year after my divorce, living here alone felt like incarceration. Going to work and motorcycle rides helped – but my time alone at home was difficult. As I considered my yard looking better, I realized I could easily feel the same sense of incarceration again.
I’ve recently spoken about service. I love the antiquated British greeting: “At your service.” Only the gentry used this phrase – perhaps because the “lower orders” were presumed to be servants of one sort or another.
Service to others makes action feel worthwhile. It’s a good feeling that has value to anyone. Maybe the reason only the gentry said “at your service” is because it couldn’t be presumed of them. And everyone wants their actions to feel worthwhile.
When I consider my future life with you, sharing a house, its the work we do together, the work that benefits each other, that will make our house a home.