When I was a kid I had a blanket called Home.
That was literally its name. Home.
I took it everywhere. Long car rides, flights, sleepovers... the couch, the floor, probably some places it definitely did not belong. I was really attached to that thing.
At the time it just felt like normal kid stuff. Looking back now, yeah. It makes a lot more sense.
We moved a lot when I was growing up. About every year and a half on average. I’d finally know the house and the school and then... cool, new ones. haha
I don’t think I had words for what that felt like. I just knew places kept changing.
So I guess my brain did something pretty practical. If home couldn’t always be a place, it could be something I brought with me.
I still do this, apparently.
These days it’s a little Sambob x Flowfold fanny pack. It ends up basically everywhere. On river trips, airplanes, wandering around town. I wore it enough that eventually I was like ohhh... this is the blanket again. lol
There’s always random shit in it. Things that make sense to keep for five minutes and somehow stay in there for six months.
Different object, same idea.
I think some of us just get really good at carrying home around.