I used to hate home. Why do we have to go home?--I would whine--or, We always go home! Can't we go out somewhere? I remember being a kid, laying on the pink carpet in my bedroom, thinking--home is so boring. Now, as an adult, home has become a self-created sanctuary with pillow and blankets chosen with care. Home is also a state of mind--a bubble bath, a lit candle, the sound of crickets, the smell of incense in church, someone's arms wrapped around me. Home is also the memory of comfort--the beach trip we took every summer, my grandmother's bed, our Christmas tree. Home went from place to a spiritual energy. Home transformed itself so many times that it no longer needs an address. As a child, I sometimes feared home...You can't send me home--I would plead to my teacher, when I got paint on my new overalls...I don't want to go home--I would say to my friend's mother. I was fearful of punishment and the ironic isolation of being in a house full of my family. Back then, there wasn't a lonelier place on earth. Back then, home wasn't a peaceful retreat from the harshness of the world. Just the opposite was true. It was only when I realized home is a perception that I found one in me.

Intimacy's Absence.
She asked, where is the intimacy? I don’t know, I answered. I was unaware it was missing. She had me draw all of the different parts of myself on a large piece of paper. Clearly, looking over her shoulder, it was obvious she was right. What did this mean? Was it a prelude to the future? Was there some hidden meaning in the lack of intimacy’s representation? I had begun dating again. There had been some long talks, some handholding, some kissing. All of which, I’ve enjoyed over the last couple of months. Yet, my psyche chose not to reflect it on the paper. I started to explain, in my defense, that I ran out of room. I told her the project became too overwhelming. I needed to stop. She nodded, the way therapists do and I knew she was on to me.
In recent weeks, I’ve been reflecting on artistic images of romance, love and intimacy. I thought about slide show quizzes in art history class. What did those pictures represent? What was each artist’s interpretation of love? What does he or she know that I am still trying to conceptualize? I hopped on the Internet, our fastest vehicle for immediate information. I found even more artistic renderings of romance. I printed some of them and I plastered them on the front and both sides of my fridge. I am hoping to learn by osmosis. Scientists say the more you receive a message the longer the staying power. Repetition makes it more likely that you’ll retain the information.
I guess that’s the whole point of Times Square. They did their research, for certain. There are enough in-your-face, repetitious messages to short circuit the human brain and cause one to have a nervous breakdown. But, what if all of those images, sounds, ideas and fast-moving words were about romance, love and intimacy instead? Would we greet each other differently? Would we be less likely to shove each other on the subway? Would we simply make more eye contact?
My writing instructor’s feedback-She thought it was interesting that I assume other people have the answers, rather than the artist trying to figure it out in the process of his or her art…

Writing Assignment- Use the words spinach, feet, anger and travel...
I asked where we'd travel to and what he'd pack to eat. His reply was in-depth and thoughtful, several paragraphs in length. He described his love of the ocean and how much he likes to fish. He also said, without a doubt, he'd pack spinach pie. I thought it was perfection. You love the ocean and spinach pie? "So do I, So do I!!" I exclaimed out loud to the computer monitor. I wished he was in the room with me. All the anger I had felt through much of my hectic day began to drain out through my feet. My muscles relaxed, as I typed and bounced on my pilates ball. I felt like a little kid, who was making a new friend at the bus stop..."Me too!! Me too!!" I yelled out again. This time he said he loves iced coffee. The excitement of love's possibility seems to replicate my youth. I find myself open, joyful and curious.

NOW
In the long journey out of the self, I have learned to live less in my head. I now exist in my heart. I have come to trust my instincts like the company of a good friend. I have turned up the volume of my presence in each moment. I have put down the fight. My senses currently rule my universe. I feel powerful in the midst of pleasure. I gently foster vulnerability. Fear is no longer my keeper, but my teacher. We have joined hands. Light shines on me. My spirit feels the warmth. My voice is given undivided attention. She is happy. She is joyful. She is content. Her soul is in line with the seasons. She plays. She leaps. She laughs. She twirls. She is free. I freed her.