Mortar & Pestle

The subway took forever as I made my way to Crate and Barrel.

I was picking up a mortar and pestle for some ambitious project I had for cooking through a cookbook (apparently it’s good practice to have an answer to ‘what are your hobbies?’ when you go on dates - this seems like a good answer and sometimes I like to cook).

As I entered, an overwhelming sense of dread came over me as I was standing in the middle of consumerism pushing the idea of "home" on me.

I’ve been here many times before, but today it felt like a scam.

Buy this, save for that or just go into debt for it for 15% off your purchase today with this store-branded credit card.

This familiar feeling rose inside of me that "home" to me used to be making a home with or for someone...and now it was just me.

Alone in this space that was "home", but wasn’t. The idea of the 3 bed/2bath, white picket fence sold as the dream, a husband, 2 kids (a boy and girl, of course) and Fido for good measure - society’s picture perfect image of "home" (but in this case it was a 1bed/1bath loft apartment in Brooklyn that was sucking me dry - emotionally and financially, but no other living beings, just me...barely).

Will I miss it when I move on or just the shadow of my past life?

It hasn't been sunny lately, yet this shadow thrives with no sun - always lurking, a constant reminder of what my life was and what could have been.

I’m still searching for what "home" means to me.

I'm trying this thing where my body is "home", but how can I feel at home in my body when I don’t recognize who I am anymore?

In the meantime, I’m going to take a bit of my anger out while crushing spices in my new mortar and pestle for what I hope is some delicious ‘spiced green sauce’....for a meal made with anger, and love, in a place that no longer feels like home.