Hygge

I’ve always believed that my life would continue to be full of that hot-noisy. It ended abruptly the year that I got pregnant with my first child and bought a house. My roommates who were like family to me moved out. The replacement roommates kept to themselves, and so did the next set and the next set (with a few exceptions). So I felt lonely and built five bedrooms into my dream house to make sure it would be full of people. I built a common area with room for everyone a kitchen at its heart.

I must have missed some critical piece. Maybe it’s because the house isn’t cozy enough or because the kids are too young? Maybe everyone has Things To Do that are more important. Maybe I’m just not fun anymore. I don’t know, I don’t know. I go to sleep troubled every night. I worry about chore wheels, dented floors and children’s conflicts. I’m finally realizing those are all decoys. My mind and body are disconnected because of chronic sleep loss so my emotions aren’t as clear to me as they once were. But I know now what it is that I want so badly it aches. It is that thing that has no English word, that sounds gooey or antiquated when you try to name it (“the soul-feeding company of merry spirits”?) I need this. It isn’t happening yet. Dinner is frenzied with young children, we put them to bed and then the house seems to die for the night. I don’t know how to even ask for it, or how to make it happen.

Then should I post this in the blog, for my friends, roommates and family to maybe read, or forget to read? For the World Wide Web to know? Would that make the lonely less? Would that create an awkward flurry of unspoken concern in my house that only makes things worse? I tend to scare people away with my blunt desire. But I’m going to work toward it. Because I need this, you see.