A move too far

You don't hear much about couples who disagree about moving. But from what I can gather, it's quite common. One person wants to move but the other passionately doesn't. And even if they end up agreeing, it can all work out badly.

A person can want to move for all sorts of reasons. They might just want somewhere bigger and better. Or they might want to move for work purposes, or to be near their family or a frail relative, or they think the area they're in is dangerous or not good for children.

Their partner is having none of it. They're happy with their home and happy with the area. Lots of their friends and relatives are there, it has great parks and shops and facilities, it's full of "people like us", the kids would have to change school, they wouldn't know anyone in the new place, it's a leap in the dark.

So they're at loggerheads. They argue and fume and bully and stamp their feet, but neither partner is giving an inch. They both have their reasons for not relenting.

And what happens? In extreme cases they split up and the one who wanted to move does so. Or they agree to stay put. Or they agree to move.

But if it's not genuine agreement and one of them is just giving in to end the conflict, there's often more trouble on the way. The person who agreed to stay put gets frustrated and resentful and harps on any negative aspect of the local neighbourhood. "Did you see that? Another nasty mugging. And just in the next street."

Or the person who agreed to move hates where they've moved to, hates the locals, hates the crummy shops, hates the schools, misses their old friends, is profoundly miserable and depressed and just wants to go back. They can't imagine why they ever agreed to move to the arse end of nowhere. Every day they're living there is torture.

Jenny and I have moved several times. Luckily, despite initial disagreement, we've always agreed in the end - and genuinely agreed. We've moved into bigger and better homes and we've moved to a completely different city - from London to Belfast. It always ended happily. But for some couples, it's the battle to end all battles, and it ends badly. Home Sweet Home turns very bitter.

No place like home

There's a Welsh word "cynefin" that means (among other things) the place where you feel you belong or feel most connected.

Some people are lucky enough to find such a place, settle down there and be very happy. Others such as myself never find it. We end up in all sorts of places and either dislike them or at best find them acceptable. We never see them as the place we're meant to be, our spiritual home, our psychic echo.

I've only ever lived in London and Belfast, and neither of those are my cynefin. They're very hospitable cities, with many attractions, but they don't have that tug, that irresistibility, that would call to my soul. I've been to many cities around the world, but none of those have the magic quality either.

I started to think, what is it that makes a place your own place, your cynefin?

1) You have to like it physically - its buildings and scenery.
2) You have to like the people and the way they live their lives.
3) You have to like the pace of life.
4) You have to like the general ambience.
5) You have to feel safe and secure.
6) You have to feel at ease, comfortable, welcome.

If any of these things are lacking, you won't feel you belong. You'll feel a sense of detachment and apartness. You'll feel like a visitor, not a resident. You'll feel you're just passing through.

But I think some people don't even realise what they're missing. It never occurs to them there's somewhere that's truly home and not just an accidental halt. They make do with what they've got, as if that's all they can expect. But it isn't. Home should be where the heart is.

The ties that bind

What makes a house a home? I've been chewing this over ever since we moved, and the answer has come to me -emotional ties.

The thing that turns an anonymous house into one that's your own, one you identify with, is not simply specific things like books or pictures or momentoes or favourite chairs but those emotional ties that get richer and richer the longer you live somewhere.

The more you've done in a house, the more you've experienced there, the more visitors you've had, the more things you've bought for it, the more changes you've made, the greater those personal connections that make the house feel endearing, familiar, cosy, lovable.

Just filling a house with bits and pieces, however beautiful they are, doesn't in itself make the house your own. Which explains why some houses look so spartan and unlived-in even though they're sumptuously furnished with the trendiest items. In the end it's up to us to add all those extra personal echoes that bring everything to life.

Memories in particular increase those emotional ties. The longer you live in a house, the more memories you have of it - both good and bad - and those memories add meaning and significance to your physical surroundings. The day the boiler packed up, that wonderful birthday party, next-door's cat pawing at the door. This is where it all happened.

When you first move into a house, you have yet to build all those personal bonds. You're conscious only that this was someone else's house, full of all their associations and not yours. Step by step you have to strip off their imprint, like stripping off old layers of wallpaper, and replace it with your own. It's a long process, but also an exciting and creative one.
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Of the 115 Romanians forced to leave their homes in South Belfast, only two are staying in Northern Ireland, while the rest are returning to Romania. Despite all the offers of help they received from local residents, in the end it's a victory for the racists who have managed to ethnically cleanse their neighbourhood. The politicians, police and other authorities have trotted out the usual ritual condemnations but never gave the ousted families the protection and security they needed. Jenny has more to say about it here.