It occurred to me that where you live, has a great impact on how you live. I haven't lived in one place for more then 6 years now, and that has defiantly altered my perspective on what my idea of home is: to me, it isn't where I live that is home, it is where the people I love are.
I lived in Toronto till I was 2, then moved to Stratford. when my parents divorced when I was 3, so mom and I moved again when I was 4. In grade 5, I moved in with my dad while mom moved jobs, and I moved back to Toronto when I was in grade 6. Mid way through grade 7, I moved back to Stratford, and in Grade 9, I moved back in with mom to Waterloo. In grade 11, I moved to Spain for a while. Then, I went off to MTA, where I lived in a different place each year, then moved backhere to Toronto.
I think what struck me, is how much STUFF makes it home. My computer, my pillow, my pictures, my books. That seems horribly materialistic, but when you're living in a place and not a home I think this is what makes the difference. Stuff is memories, comfort, familiarity and truly something that matters. It doesn't have to have a cost, just a memory that reminds you of a place that felt more like home.
All I know, is I love my appt, and don't want to move anytime soon, but I know I will. We just painted (one wall is a chalkboard!) and moved furniture around, and got a new workspace, bought a new bed (king size!) and will soon be inviting friends over to draw on the wall- instant art that means something.