‘Home’ is the right word

Tom Pinney

Back in December, I wrote about how “home” is such a strong word because I’ve never really felt at home.

My dad is a minister, which is the second most nomadic profession behind the military, and it’s the entire reason we’ve moved around so much. It’s how I ended up living for about five years in New Mexico, it’s how I lived about 11 years of my life in Texas.

It’s how I ended up in Ohio, and it’s how I got into Ohio University and studied there.

But now I’m in Maryville, for reasons that are entirely mine. And at the beginning of this month, I started renting a house.

Granted, it’s a one bedroom house, because I’m not sneezing money, but it’s still a house. And on the day I signed the new lease, I really felt like an adult.

Seriously, though. I felt as if the Council of Adulthood had come and visited me and given me an official membership. Legit, it’s as if they showed up in their hooded cloaks, chanted a few words, and endowed me with adult-ness.

Yes, I still make fart jokes and giggle to myself at the thought that I have cards with my name on them, but the council forgave that because I’m now renting a house.

For the first time in my life, I’m not only completely caught up on my bills, but my budget plan is actually working to the point where I’m able to start shoring away a percent of my monthly pay into a savings account. I have also been able to add a video game budget instead of budgeting around impulse purchases, because I’m an adult and I can do whatever I want with my money.

I passed up Captain America paraphernalia the other day in Target. Progress, people!

But all of that is beside the point. When I moved into my house, something changed.

I can’t really describe the feeling. It was like waking up in a dream, but then never coming out of it.

A few days later, I caught myself saying that I was heading “home.” Not “my house.” Home.

I had never really referred to a place in that way before. When I was living in apartments, I always said I was going back to my apartment.

Slowly, the sentiment started to build over the past month, to the point where I spent this last rainy Saturday cheering on the Bearcats, longing to be with the speech team in Idaho, but mostly, sipping a warm cup of tea as I watched the rain fall from my window.

I finally felt like I was home.

I don’t know how much this changes anything I’ve said in the past. I still don’t know if I’m supposed to be elsewhere, nor do I know even how long I am to be employed by the Forum.

I don’t know if, in two years’ time, I’m going to get head-hunted by the New York Times. Though I highly doubt that. But that’s the point: I still don’t know what the future holds for me.

But right now, I finally feel like I’m at home.

I’ve established myself in the community, hosting Trivia Night at Applebee’s on Tuesdays, writing for the paper, and playing music at Countryside each weekend.

I’m not feeling terribly wanderlusty anymore, but even if I was, a quick trip to Target in St. Joe will do the trick. And then I come back home, snuggle up on my futon, and watch Netflix for the night.

If I need to go for a drive, Nodaway County is truly beautiful at any time of the day. During the daytime, I can take a trip over to the monastery in Conception, and as I drive down, enjoy the scenery before getting to the beautiful seminary campus. I can drive south to Graham or Barnard and see bustling small-town life.

And at night, I can go anywhere outside of Maryville city limits to get out of the light pollution and see a sky full of stars. I can lie there, on the roof of my car, and stare for hours, lost in the space and constellations, and take full stock of my life.

And then, I return home, snuggle up on my futon, and watch Netflix for the night.

This is where the confusion lies. I’ve never felt at home where my family lived, but 800 miles from my closest relative and now I suddenly realize this lifelong dream I never knew I had?

I have to drive for a day to get to someone with whom I share DNA. I have to take a vacation to go visit my parents. But this is home to me.

I’m not sure why my mind chose Maryville, but it just kind of did. And now, I’m sitting in the office, feeling more entrenched in this community than I’ve ever been before, and life just kind of feels right.

I feel like I’ve finally arrived. I’ve spent four years in Maryville, and in the beginning, I wasn’t really looking for home. I was just looking for a place to stay awhile.

As it turns out, I think I’ve finally found home.

I don’t quite know what it is about Maryville that’s made me start to plant my roots here. Maybe it’s the fact that Northwest doesn’t know how not to win stuff.

Maybe it’s the fact that the winning attitude of this town extends to the high school. Maybe it’s the new opportunities for artistic expression with Nodaway Community Theater Company and Second Stage.

Whatever it is, I love it. And whether it’s a unique trait of Maryville or indicative of life throughout the county, all I know is I want more of it.

You’ve made me smitten, Maryville. You’ve caught me in your spell and wooed me with your idyllic small town lifestyle.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Tom Pinney is a news reporter for the Maryville Daily Forum