Perspective.

I am in a stranger’s home. Well, it is not a stranger’s. It is the family I babysit for. But, their home is still a bit strange to me. It does not feel like home. It is not like a friend’s place, where you at least feel comfortable. This place, while it is comfortable, still feels different. I have only been here four times. That is not enough times yet to make it feel homey.

There is a picture frame on the wall made up of three photos. It has gotten me thinking about the number three. I have never really liked this number. It is odd. I like even numbers more. I, myself, am partial to the numbers two and four. They are nice even numbers and when put together, they form twenty four, my favorite number. Three, however, is just an awkward number. It is like half an eight – split right down the middle. If it were actually an eight, it would form two circles and it would look full. But a three looks jagged and forlorn.

Many things come in three’s – Freud’s id, ego, and superego. There are three colors on a traffic light. There are three main meals in a day. The Hebrew word shalom means three things – hello, goodbye, and peace. There are three main eye colors. There are three main levels of schools – Elementary, Middle, and High school. Babies can be born in three’s, though this is rare. There are three peas in a pod. There are three leaf clovers. When you are young, you might saw “free” instead of “three.” It is cute. In fairy tales, things often occur in three’s – “The Three Little Pigs,” “Goldilocks and the Three Bears,” etc.

Three times eight is twenty four. You would have to add three eight times to reach my favorite number. It is weird to think about the fact that my favorite number is comprised of a number I don’t like. Maybe that is how life is – we like the overall product, just not necessarily all the little messy details.

My stomach is grumbling and my mouth is dry. I don’t know where the water is here and I don’t want to eat their food. I brought a water bottle and stupidly left it in the car. So close and yet so far! I keep dreaming of waterfalls and pools and ice cubes and faucets.

It is unbearably hot outside. I can’t wait for cool breezes and scarf weather. I can’t wait to wear leggings and boots and winter dresses. I can’t wait for hot chocolate and hot coffee and snuggling on the couch to stay warm.

Five days until I see him.

The word home does not mean a physical place. I have learned this. I feel at home with certain people, not necessarily in certain places. Being at home, I think, means being comfortable in your own skin. I have many homes. There is the home I was born, the home I resided in last week, the home I live in now. There is the home I feel when I am with my boyfriend, or best friend, or classmates. There is the sensation of walking down a street and smelling in the fresh air and knowing that this is where I belong. This is home. At least for now. Home is always changing. It is kind of scary to think that your place in the world is not permanent; your home is not fixed. The strength of the walls around you is subject to change and move and collapse and be rebuilt. That is just the cycle of life. And sometimes the move is refreshing and the change is good and much needed. Often, the journey is more exciting than the end destination.

I am staring at a fake flower on the table in front of me. It looks pretty until you look close and you see the plastic and torn fabric. And then it just looks drab and lifeless.

When I grow older, I want a garden. I want to grow flowers, especially sunflowers. I want to walk outside and feel my mood uplifted as I see my garden. I want to watch the flowers blossom and grow and die and grow back. I want to see that rebirth. I want to be reminded that life is never really over.

People can have a threesome. In baseball it is three strikes and you are out. If you get a field goal in football, you get three points. In the board game “Clue,” you guess three things when it is your turn – person, place, and object. A series of three books is a trilogy. A Haiku is composed of three lines. In music, three notes form a chord. There are three deathly hallows in Harry Potter. There is the common saying “three times is the charm.”

I am looking again at the frame with three pictures. It looks good on the wall. Maybe three is not such a bad number after all. Or maybe I just need to view it as twenty four split up in eight pieces. If I look at it that way, then three is just a part of something bigger. It is all about perspective. You take three different people and have them look at the same image, and they will see three different things. That is the beauty of life – we can all look at the number three and maybe you see two sideways U’s, and someone else sees a bird laying on its side, and then maybe someone else sees half of an eight. That is the beauty of interpretation. It is gray. It is open. It is alive.

Blink and your perspective has probably changed just a little bit. Blink again and maybe it has changed completely. Walk away and come back, and you won’t even recognize what once was.  Or maybe it all stays the same and you walk away no more the wiser. And that would be a pity.