Home. It's such a complex word. We should feel safe, comfy, and cozy in a home. But many of us grew up in homes that felt anything but. I am thankful that was not my experience. Moving from home is said to be one of the most stressful events in life. It makes sense- packing up your nest, uprooting, starting over. Even if the next place is exciting, it’s still terribly stressful.

My move back to Atlanta was all of those things. The fact that it happened at warp speed possibly compounded the stress. But maybe it was better to just get on with it. The death of my sweet Fergus tripled the emotions. It seemed like it was a sign. He died in my arms in my Charleston garden. His spirit was all over that house. It was time for a fresh start.

A month before Fergus died, I was in Atlanta at a house music festival, dancing amongst hundreds of other house music fans of all ages, races, and sexes. As I was twirling on the dance floor in the middle of a sweltering sunny afternoon, I looked at the sky with tears of joy. This is what I want life to be like. Why do I always travel to find this kind of joy? Why not just live in it? At that moment, I knew it was time to return home.

The universe seemed to agree as everything fell into place. My Charleston house sold in four days before it was on the market. I found a magical gardener’s cottage built in 1899 in the middle of midtown that has been owned by several other queer couples over the decades and closed on it a few weeks later.

Chris and I felt so at home the first few weeks after the move. We have met a wonderful group of queer folks and attended some fantastic events, from art exhibits to fundraisers, that bring us such joy. We missed a thriving queer community and diversity in general. Atlanta has both in spades. Of course, reconnecting with old friends has been delightful, and being closer to my mama, sister, and nieces feels good, too.

As I walk my new puppy, Arthur, along Standish Avenue each morning and evening, the road curves, the trees part, and the Atlanta skyline comes into view. Every time, it feels like I’m seeing The Emerald City for the first time. A skyline I grew up with. It has changed, and so have I. Familiar yet fresh.

This view gives me a warm fuzzy every day on our dog walk

That familiarity brings me much happiness. I realized last week when Mom was staying with us that I pass by my great-grandmother’s home on Andrews Drive every time I go to the grocery store. I often drive by what used to be The Masquerade, too. This was a legendary event space where I heard Bjork and Deee-Lite and danced with Lady Kier. It has since been demolished (it was always a fire trap), but its foundations still stand under luxury condos.

Funny enough, I feel more Southern in big city ATL than in Charleston. My neighborhood was mostly Airbnb, so I rarely heard Southern accents. And Charlstonians all laugh at how many folks from Ohio have moved into The Holy City. But here I hear all sorts of Southern dialects, and the lingo I grew up with still exists- ‘What up Shawty?’

Visitors are amazed at how quickly a house becomes a home for me. I have pictures hung, and books shelved in the first few days. I need a nest. It’s essential to me to feel ‘at home’. I also enjoy decorating as it’s a wonderful creative outlet. But I do have to have patience, mainly in the garden department. It will take a few years to get her back to her glory. But I’m up for the challenge, as is my dear friend and expert gardener, Cooper Sanchez. A few weeks ago, he told me, “Brother, let’s give it a year and see what comes out of the ground. In five years, it will be ready for a garden tour.” Deep breath.

Someone asked me recently if I miss my old home in Charleston. I’m still processing that. I see photos from over the years and have little pangs. But mostly, they are because of Fergus. He lit up that house for me, as did Gareth. It was our home together, and the memories run deep. But hell, I’m still missing my home in Harlem I left in 2019 after 17 years. These are spaces where I have so many pivotal memories. Home is where we rest our heads, cook our food, and, for me, throw some seriously legendary parties.

One of my favorite memories in CHS- Door open, plants swaying, wind chimes singing, puppies relaxing.

Last week, we had some new friends come over for a drink. One of them, a pillar of the queer community here, walked through the home and said with a smile, “I am so glad we have another amazing gathering space for our community.” Cue heart bursting with neon pink glitter. He sees it, too. I am eager to see how life here blossoms - with just a little bit of patience.

What do you need to feel at home?

What could you do to bring more joy if a move isn’t in the cards?

Are you ready to make some moves but need specific goals and timelines? I got you.