Home is a Verb

Home Is a Verb

For so long, I thought of home as a destination. A fixed place. Four walls, a roof, an address that would anchor me to the earth. Maybe that’s why I’ve wrestled with the paradox of craving the open road and dreaming of a homestead. Both longings circle around the same ache: to feel at home.

But here’s what I’m beginning to realize—home isn’t just a noun. It isn’t only a place you arrive at or purchase or inherit. Home is a verb. It’s something you do, something you create, something you embody.

The truth is, when I’m single, the routine of life wears me down fast. The same roads, the same stores, the same coffee shop, the same day on repeat—it grinds the spirit. My own perspective can get worn out when it’s the only one I have to live inside. Stagnation is what kills me. The cookie-cutter routine, the rinse and repeat, the feeling that nothing new is unfolding—it makes me restless, even hopeless.

But when I’m partnered, everything shifts. Because suddenly there’s another perspective. Another way to see the world. Another heart to experience things with. The smallest rituals—walking through a park, cooking dinner, exploring a new neighborhood—become expansive. A garden opens that I couldn’t tend on my own, and in that shared space, there’s always something new growing.

That’s why change of environment has always been essential to me. When I lived in new cities, there was always something new to discover: a trail, an event, a corner of culture that unfolded a new piece of myself. Even after fifteen years with my ex, I felt that daily unfolding in partnership, and I still craved new spaces together. By contrast, here in Pocatello, I’ve felt how quickly a place can run dry—within a year, we’d walked all the trails, seen all the events, and the cycle became rinse and repeat. For me, stagnation is the opposite of home.

So I’ve come to see that for me, to feel like I’m living—to feel like I’m creating home—things must always be in a state of expansion. That can come through travel, through partnership, through the constant unfolding of new experiences that stretch me beyond myself.

Home is a verb. It is the active choosing of growth, the deliberate practice of making space for something new to bloom. It’s not about staying put or moving endlessly, but about ensuring that wherever I am, life doesn’t harden into repetition. Home isn’t only a place on the map—it’s the unfolding of self, the opening of a garden, the continuous practice of becoming.

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