Dude, Where's My Stuff?

I have felt the impact of not having my belongings with me. There is an underestimated amount of comfort and connection that we have, in general I would guess, to the things we own. Our couch, our plant stand, our bedspread, our dishes, our rugs.
They are the familiar landscape that we live in and it is so interesting to see my reaction at the lack of "my stuff". As I wander around acquainting myself with this new place, I realize I feel sometimes as if I am floating, as if I am visiting (aren't we all, in the end?). But there is this feeling that I don't quite know what to do with myself. I love the new things- the rugs gifted our way by family, the beautiful tables and artwork from childhood and such but the things that I recognize, the things that say "Yep, this is home." --Those things haven't arrived so the surreal feeling that this isn't yet mine, is intact and keeps me slightly off kilter in the face of it.

I love all the gifts, the hand me downs, the recognized pieces and the newer treasures- I really do, they are my style and slide right in and make me smile with their beauty or funk. But the same shorts and shirts, the lack of identifying landscape pieces that anchor me to what I have perceived as "home" for so long- that is harder than I thought and I can't decide whether I should be upset or not about the fact that I have that attachment at all.

I am so visual that it make sense- I identify routes to different places by landmarks not by North/South or East/West- not even street signs- it's more like "Oh, that tree that curves up and over, I turn left there and then the barn with the sheep- that's where I take a right."
My landmarks are all new here and I know that the only GPS that will work is the one in my heart that must learn that the only landmarks I need on my horizon are contained within my soul. That's a tough lesson, that one.