My wife and I decided we needed to get the hell out of our house. 

The bathroom is so small, you need to turn to the side to walk between the bathtub and the sink. Once on the toilet, you can rest your elbows on the sink. It’s the only bathroom in a three-bedroom house.

There’s no privacy in the backyard, which wouldn’t be a big deal except for the horror of the broken-down cars parked in my neighbor’s yard. It’s like living next to a cute little junkyard. And the neighbors across the alley always have their music too damned loud at too late an hour. 6 am to 11:30 pm, it’s the same thumping. 

When the pandemic hit, we were trapped. Two-year-old, upset anxious wife, and me, chillin and frustrated. 

The steps to the upstairs bend and sound like they’re splintering every time we trek up them. All the rooms are too small. Even the doorways are too small. We had to get rid of furniture because the items wouldn’t fit up the stairs or through doorways or in the bedrooms. 

When COVID-19 hit, I was laid off, but my wife was instructed to work from home. She feared losing her job because my daughter would not let her be, and in that room with the computers and desks, there’s no air-conditioning. Adding that to a super cute kid wanting to draw on everything or have a tantrum during Zoom work calls, is nuts. 

What I learned from quarantine life is that you must love where you live. You have to fill your house with you, rather than just stuff that represents you.

As the pandemic rolled on, I’d hear about all these people who needed to get out of their houses; they felt claustrophobic. Wouldn’t it have made sense that when the pandemic started more people would have felt relieved that they could stay home and be with their families? Maybe they realized they didn’t have homes; they just had houses with stuff in them. 

My family was having a hard time finding good energy to place in the walls. It wasn’t only us with this problem. I heard of mass divorces, at first, specifically in China, then friends started texting me, telling me their relationships were ending…after twelve years, after fifteen years and so on and so on. 

One day my wife asked a huge question: What happened to that hammock I had promised? Before she was done asking the question, I was ordering one online. Then the veggie garden started to produce food. I had no idea cucumbers bloomed flowers. I put up a tarp across my back fence if for no other reason, to rediscover my backyard. We invested $20 in a pool for the girl. 

I read in the hammock.

Come to find out, my daughter loves to dance. We do it in the garage to the generic beats of the Casio keyboard. She loves it. We dance in the living room, spin in circles out back. I try to teach her about growing veggies, but she’s not quite three and truly doesn’t care, and I truly don’t know anything. It’s just growing. Everybody, everything; all of us. She more wants to get in the pool.

I recently started back to work. Had to find a new job. Honestly, it sucks more than I can express in this post because now I like being home. I like coming home. I like that we’re here, and although we’re still planning on moving, we’re going to miss the energy we put into these walls. We’re going to miss the noisy steps. I’m going to miss that first garden I ever did, and I’m going to miss watching my daughter water it. 

The only way to have a home is to be there. You can’t just stop by and wander in it. You need to be there. You know what I think, I think there are people out there truly upset and probably ashamed that they don’t have a home, although they have a house or an apartment or condominium or whatever it is. I’m not sure if money can buy a home. Although, that rowing machine I got…Worth it. 

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