It’s been two weeks since I put the last items in the POD, turned in my house keys, and left Las Vegas for my new home in Valencia, CA. No one was more surprised than me that I find myself still without a new place to call my own.
I had no thoughts of moving this year, but when the house I’d been happily renting for four and half years was being sold, I had no say in the matter.
I decided it was time to reconnect with my family and join them in California. To say that things have not gone according to plan would be an understatement.
I’ll spare you the boring details, but this time without a place of my own has me thinking and examining my feelings about home. Those feelings have certainly changed over time.
For the first half of my life, a home was somewhere to return to after a day spent in school or at work. That all changed on the day that I set up the card table in my family room and opened my first little business.
At the time, I went to great lengths to conceal the fact that I worked from home. Who would take me seriously if they saw my unimpressive office?
At the time, there were no resources talking about being self-employed and working from home. Of course, I knew writers and some artists turned a spare bedroom into a studio, but I had no idea what other forms of enterprise could thrive in a domestic setting.
The exception to the conventional business start-up information was Supergirls, the book that gave me the notion that I could be self-employed. They had started out working from home, but moved into “real” offices as soon as their business began to grow.
At the time, I assumed I would do the same and set up shop in a rented space where I could have proper meetings and create exciting events. At the time, I had no idea how much I would come to love working from home.
So here I am decades later, a homeless homebased entrepreneur. I assume this is a temporary condition.
I am also keenly aware that the flexibility, mobility and independence this lifestyle offers also makes it possible for me to shift my focus temporarily from running my business to finding my next World Headquarters.
I admit I got a little envious—and even more eager to be settled—when I saw pictures of the smiling homebased entrepreneurs that Judy shared.
Then two-year-old Zachy runs up, throws his arms around my legs and yells, “Yeah, Grandma!” That’s when it seems perfectly okay to practice benign neglect a little while longer.