New House But Not Really A Home

My friend Ann wrote recently in her blog about the places she feels most at home, whether it be her house in Austin, a great friend's house in Nashville, or some place from childhood. It really made start to think about what is "home" to me. It seems like lately I have wanted to be any place other than the place I'm supposed to call home now. I signed the papers on my first home on April 22nd, but right now it just feels like merely a house. There is nothing there that connects it to my heart and soul the way I feel when I drive past 4442 Oak Hollow where I spent the years of my childhood until my parents moved when I was in my senior college or 508 Sunset where cousins grew up more like siblings building tents and swimming until we only had enough energy left to gorge ourselves on red Koolaid and cheese dip and then falling asleep on the snuggly sectional couch in a over air conditioned living room or even on a recent trip to Waco when I drove past my fire hazard of an apartment on Speight with the beautiful hard wood floors and French doors or the duplex I shared with Ann and a revolving set of roommates on Bagby. Those places have connections to my heart mostly because of the people and experiences I had while living in each. This place, with it's cookie cutter design and its 600 square feet that I don't even enter because I don't need it, is only the place I go to sleep each night. I usually walk out the door at 7:45 each morning and don't press the button to raise the garage door until 10:30 pm later that same day. I'm so proud of myself for having the courage to take this step and buy a house, but now I don't want to be there because no part of it feels like "home." There are my personal touches all over the house, but even so, it just serves to remind me of where and who I thought I would be by this point in my life and how I'm still waiting on that "someday" to come along. I think I'm just waiting for the day when my heart doesn't sink in the pit of my stomach when I see a couple who are totally in love or when my sister-in-law and my cousin, who are more like best friends than relatives, talk about having their next babies. I don't want to be mopey or depressing about any of this, but when all of these things run through my head, especially lying bed in my house that is much more than I need but was such a steal it was too hard to pass up, I just wonder when the space between these walls will start to feel like a home and can it really feel like a "home" if you are not sharing it with anyone. There have always been family members, friends/roommates, even ex-fiances that have made the place I came to each night be a "home" to which I'm returning. Now when I raise the garage door, turn the key in the back door, and step inside all that greets me is silence and darkness. How does a house become a home?