The significance of a toothbrush

Over the past four years, home hasn’t been four walls for me. Home hasn’t been a consistent group of friends for me. Home hasn’t been one location or one job, one mindset or one bed.

Home for me has been my toothbrush.

I love brushing my teeth.?

I love brushing my teeth so much, in fact, that my dentist told me I need to chill.

Yeah, I’m being for real. Supposedly, I’m a bit overzealous with my bristle strokes… which could cause gum decay?? Who would’ve thunk it – I guess there truly can be too much of a good thing.?

Since turning 18, the word “home” has taken on many iterations. From a windowless concrete college apartment to a cabin with a concaving floor in the woods. From a tent in the foothills of the Tetons to the backseat of my 2008 Honda CRV at a random midwestern gas station (In Iowa? Kansas? Not entirely sure the exact state but they’re all the same anyway…). To everywhere in between.?

It’s safe to say I’ve grown accustomed to a loose interpretation of what is considered a bed.

Whether home is somewhere for five months or 24 hours, there has been one constant throughout: my toothbrush.

And a toothbrush carries a lot of weight — hear me out.

A toothbrush provides a sense of familiarity. A sense of comfort, routine, intimacy.?

When settling into a new house, filling your toothbrush holder is symbolic of making the place your own, establishing your sense of belonging. A location of importance.

When a romantic partner leaves a toothbrush over, it signifies a commitment, establishing a promise to the relationship, a guarantee to return. A shared habitual routine.

A toothbrush embodies stability.?

A humble, functional tool so ingrained into our daily rituals that without it, we feel lost.

As an obsessive tooth-brusher, I inevitably have left a breadcrumb trail of toothbrush locations: my childhood home, my best friend’s place, my college house, my school book bag – just to name a few.

However, one month ago I graduated from college. One week ago, I moved across the world. I’m currently surviving out of a meticulously overstuffed 65-liter Osprey backpack and a muddled direction of my next steps.?

My childhood bedroom is packed in boxes in my parents’ attic. My best friend's place no longer has art on its walls. My college house is subleased to strangers. And I bought myself a brand new book bag.

The concept of home is one big gray cloud at the moment… and will continue to be.?

My plan feels a bit too nonexistent. My friendships feel a bit too fleeting. My bank account feels a bit too underfunded.?

But damn straight, my breath feels fresh.