Finding meaning in bathroom tiles

Recently, I walked into a shop hoping to find some bathroom tiles, and walked out with an epiphany.

I was in Lincoln, England. My family’s hometown, though not somewhere I considered my own. The concept of home had appeared muddled to me since March 29, 2001—the day my mother died.

In the weeks and months that followed, my home became unrecognizable. I was in my first year of university, already having flown the nest, and recoiled into the numbing distraction of books, vodka, and the strangers who would become my teachers of a world beyond Keats and Shakespeare.

On rare visits home, a crippling sadness extended its long arms to envelop me as I walked through the door. Before long, I was in departures at London Heathrow.

It was winter and I flew south. I flew as far as I could. South Africa, Australia, the South Pacific, Asia. When my bank balance ran dry, I joined the flocks in London; the endless throng of early birds and night owls. Soon I took flight once again to work abroad.

After ten years, I hit a wall.

Whether it was the promise of comfort, or quiet, or a childish internal cry, I’m not sure what called me home, but the arms that extended out to me when I got there were steady and warm.

Reading bedtime stories to my sister’s two children pulled me back into the world of the heroes and heroines I would invent growing up. My brother’s playful punch reminded me of fisticuffs, though he was far stronger than I remembered.

My father’s roast dinners stirred up the same excitable chatter as it used to at dinnertimes after school. He had kept the same plates.

Both my brother and sister were with me as we shopped for bathroom tiles that day. Perhaps they had nothing better to do on a Saturday morning. Most likely, they thought I had terrible taste. Or perhaps they just knew that even with the most trivial of decisions, it’s just easier with someone else with you, and I realized how long it had been since I’d felt cared for.

I believe in leaving the nest. Testing your wings and learning to navigate the prevailing winds that may blow you off course.

But I believe in going home again. As the seasons pass, life grows. Familiar scenes appear different. And whether we prepare to nest or take flight once more, we tap into the reserves deep within that remind us where we started, and how far we have come.