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I love my home. I love my home. And when I find myself being nostalgic about things, it’s because my home is what’s nostalgic about me. When I was a kid, my home was a place where I could live out my fantasies with a few friends. Nowadays, it’s a place where I live out my fantasies with my dogs.

For most of us, our homes are places we’ve become comfortable with, and they’re places that we know our most intimate things in. However, in one of the most influential books of the past century, The Weather Inside, author and philosopher Henry David Thoreau wrote, “The happiness of home is to be born, not made.” Thoreau was a man who lived in a time when homes were places we were born, not made.

It’s a bit of a throwaway line, but I think Thoreau is alluding to the fact that a good home is a place where we can be happy, as opposed to a place where we have to make excuses to be happy. In our case, I think we’re doing a nice job of making excuses, but Thoreau would probably tell us that this is exactly what we’re doing.

In an age of increasing environmental destruction and global warming we are becoming more and more anxious to find a location where we can be happy, where we can feel safe and secure. The happiness of home is to be born, not made. That’s the message I take from the quote from Thoreau.

The problem with Thoreau is that in the beginning he was always trying to be perfect. He’s constantly trying to make things look better and better, and is never able to do that.

This is what I’ve been trying to tell people. We have to be willing to be imperfect. We have to make mistakes. We have to accept that we will be in the wrong place at the wrong time, and that we will probably die in the wrong place.

The reason I’m starting a new post, is that I’m not always willing to accept mistakes. I’m often just not willing to see errors in my own life. I have to be willing to face them.