I’ve Lived in 19 Homes, and Somehow They All Felt Like Mine

Why Belonging Has Nothing to Do With the Zip Code

I’ve lived in nineteen homes.

Some for a couple years (never more than 4), and others I sublet for all of 3 months. I’m not a military kid, or part of a traveling circus. I’m the daughter of a single mom who knew how to make a fresh start feel like an adventure. Every apartment move, every location upgrade, every environmental shift was a symbol of her hard work. Even though we knew we would inevitably move again, we made each home our own. 

By the time I moved to LA, I had carried that sense of playful curiosity with me. LA almost requires you to neighborhood-hop, to try on streets and buildings like outfits, to see how you feel and resonate with each special pocket of the city. Some might have called my years of apartment jumping and subletting noncommittal, but it felt natural to me, because of my upbringing. 

Now, here I am technically in my nineteenth home, a temporary beach cottage that I’m sharing with my husband for a short 2 month stint. And it’s here, standing in a place I don’t own or feel attached to, that I realized something important:

Home isn’t where you live. It’s how you live in it.

The furniture in this house is…fine. It’s coastal and breezy, a little too beachy for my usual taste, but the couch surprised me by being comfier than our old one. Because it’s a truly short term stay, we’re not redecorating (we’re not allowed to, and I wouldn’t want to). And with that comes an unexpected sense of ease and surrender. 

It’s not about making the space look perfect or curated. It’s about how we experience it.

So, what actually makes a place feel like mine? Not just the big, philosophical idea of “home,” but the little things — the practical, sensory, everyday rituals that ground me wherever I am. My mom taught me most of these, and I’m happy to pass them along here. 

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PART 1: WHAT I DID IMMEDIATELY (AND SUGGEST ANYONE DOES WHEN THEY MOVE SOMEWHERE)

Here’s what I did the minute we arrived: I claimed the space physically. My husband and I didn’t treat it like a hotel room. We unpacked right away, set up our familiar linen sheets on the bed, put our water filter on the counter, tucked empty suitcases into the closet. That small act of organizing and placing made it feel like we belonged here, like we were saying, "Ok, We live here now."

Energetically, I claimed it too. I set my tarot decks on the coffee table, just like I did in our last apartment. I put together tiny altars. I found the wealth corner of the house and placed an Ace of Pentacles card there — a small but powerful reminder that I was setting intentions for this chapter.

I also hung a windchime, a recent ritual I love. We placed it by the front door, so when we open it to let the spring breeze roll through, the soft chime fills the space. It clears stagnant energy and welcomes fresh chi, keeping the vibe quite high and complements the naturally quiet and serene energy of this tiny coastal town. 

Most importantly, I introduced myself to the house. I literally spoke to her (she feels feminine to me), telling her, "We’re here for a little while, and we’re excited to get to know you. We won’t ask you to be something you’re not." That simple act of acknowledgement sets the tone: we’re here to engage, not just occupy.

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PART 2: I MADE IT SENSORY, NOT “STYLED”

The next layer is all about capturing experiences and moments in the home, not (re)styling.

We lit a candle I love, one I’ve been using a lot this season. That familiar scent filled the room and made it feel like spring, like home. Kam tuned into the lighting, moving a small accent lamp from upstairs downstairs to make things cozier and softer in the evenings. We threw a blanket over the loveseat, rolled out my yoga mat near the door. Little things that shifted the space just enough to signal: we’re here, and we’re living.

We also set up the Sonos on day one. Every morning, when I pass it on the way to make my morning bevy, I tap play and jazz spills softly through the kitchen. That soundtrack sets the rhythm of the space, helping it come alive with us rather than feel like a stranger.

And here’s something I didn’t expect to love: my choice of sunflowers.

I usually grab a small bouquet of flowers during my weekly grocery run. But I would never have chosen them for our last home. Sunflowers would’ve felt off, the wrong vibe. But here? They’re cheery, bright, and they fit the coastal aesthetic perfectly. It’s fun to let a chapter have its own little details, its own flavor (or flower). It’s not that the rituals themselves change, but the tiny touches — the choices, the lighting, the little add-ons — create new novelty and charm.

These sensory cues matter. When you can’t change the decor or paint the walls, you can still claim the atmosphere. You can still infuse the space with your presence.

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STEP 3: NOTICE DAILY PRACTICES THAT CAN ONLY HAPPEN HERE.

This is the most fun part: using the space for the gifts it offers. Utilizing a space entirely is feng shui 101. Use each feature, don’t let rooms or corners go completely untouched. 

We have a wood-burning fireplace here — it’s a little inconvenient to build (for Kam, let’s be honest), but always worth it. We have a hammock out back, and I’ve chosen it over the couch many afternoons, just to sway near the grass and listen to the birds (there are so many birds here).

I work by the window, staring at the water (I know, I’m lucky), letting it fill me up each time I write, offer a reading, or answer emails. I want to soak in the view, to take advantage of this special little moment of life in this cottage. Every time, I silently say thank you.

Maybe my favorite ritual: walking barefoot on the grass. In Hermosa Beach, everything was concrete — here, the earth is soft, cool, grounding. I step off the porch each morning, coffee in hand, and stand in the grass and just enjoy it. It nourishes me. It reminds me why I’m here and chose to take a break from our previous lifestyle and pace.

And every day, I sit on the front porch, even when it’s chilly, waving to neighbors as they pass. Appreciating the little things, letting this home pull me into its world, rather than trying to pretend it’s similar to previous spaces we’ve loved before. 

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THE TAKEAWAY HERE

After so many moves, here’s what I know to be true: feeling at home isn’t about ownership or permanence. It’s about having a relationship with your space. It’s about how you show up to it — and how you let it show up for you.

So if you’re in transition, or craving a stronger sense of belonging in a place you’ve been for a while, ask yourself: What’s one ritual or sensory cue you can bring into your space today? What’s a new way you might claim this space, engage with it, and appreciate all it offers?

Beyond the styling, the organizing, and the rearranging, sometimes the magic is simply in letting the space surprise you.

As always, I’d love to hear from you: What’s one thing you do that makes your space feel like home? Share any reflections in the comments. 

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