When pondering what to write in my annual blog related to our company theme—this year, it’s about our personal North Star—the answer is easy: home. But not in the traditional sense.
I recently read that in 1916, and just before the start of WWI, the American writer and designer Edith Wharton published The Book of the Homeless. She intended to raise funds for children displaced by the conflict with the sale of her compilation of essays, art, poems, and musical scores, all about what Home means. In my emotionally cathartic dive into the topic of home, I’ve come to realize some essential truths about myself.
2025 started auspiciously, when on January 3rd, which was also my son’s 35th birthday, my husband and I moved from our home for the past 40 years. (I’m not that old, but that sentence sure makes me feel so!). We raised three kids there, had multiple pets run in the yards and get into mischief (many are even buried on the property), and hosted our eldest daughter’s sentimental wedding in the same yard where I was married years before, amid the sounds of the crashing waves. This past summer, my kids surprised my husband and me with a photo shoot of our entire family, now including four grandchildren, on the main stairway a la the Von Trapp family, on the ocean-facing porch, and in the yard, as a way to say goodbye and to honor all the loving memories we created in that space. Cue the tears.
Once I recovered after the big move, I realized I was still home. For all the support, growth, happiness, and sad times at my former address, they’ve left their indelible and inspiring marks on me that resonate in my daily life and interactions.
My first lesson in the meaning of home was after my parents had passed, and we emptied their house to sell it. I saw my younger self in every nook and cranny. I was flooded with memories like the intoxicating scent of my mother’s favorites cooking in the oven, teasing my brothers when they called girls for prom dates, and having to play “school” in the basement with my sister as my teacher. And I missed my parents deeply. I could hear my dad say, “It’s only stuff,” on repeat, and I rebelled against that thought, until it sunk in. Mum and Dad weren’t there anymore. At that point, our home was simply a building, a vessel that no longer held our souls.
Selling my recent house that I designed with, and for my family, (bittersweetly, I might add), reinforced this notion. I freed my mind to consider what makes a Home, and how those elements are my North Star. To help me organize my thoughts, I turned to a favorite poem by Joyce Carol Oates, HOUSE HOME HOUSE. She eloquently captured a key element of my North Star – “Home is the invisible within.” My definition of home, while challenging to articulate, is also remarkable, because everyone has their own invisible within upon which they can rely.
As a boater, I also think of the North Star in nautical terms. Also known as Polaris, it’s a star in the northern sky that sailors use to determine direction and location, particularly latitude. It’s a crucial navigational tool because it remains almost stationary in the sky, marking true north. Whether you call it North Star or true north, the metaphor and reality are the same, leading people home. And home, like memories, lives in your heart.
I think of my students who will soon change schools—whether independent or college—and I want to empower them to know that they can already create their own version of home and their north star. If they worry about their search for this place and grounding, I say, ” You already know home because it’s within you. What you seek is the ENVIRONMENT in which YOUR home can flourish.
This revelation allows me to move forward with peace, just as Dorothy herself learned, standing with Glinda and clicking her ruby slippers together in The Wizard of Oz. There’s no place like home!
