My home is a rather humble affair that occupies an average sized lot in a modest neighborhood. Thin walls separate too-small rooms with far too little storage space. Like its owner, the effects of time, for better or worse, have taken a toll, leaving me with enough renovation projects to last throughout my golden years. But in spite of its short-comings, I love the place with a fierceness that can’t be justified by appearance or market value.

I’ve packed a lot of living between these walls. Here, the chair where Alaina sat with me and sang Down By the Bay every day after preschool. There, the room where little Stephanie and I conquered her bout of nightmares by planning to meet by our favorite tree while we dreamed. Still gracing my front yard is the swing where I rocked infant Susie and watched the sunset each night during the first summer of her life. The gardens burst with lush flowers from bulbs I first planted between the girls’ dance rehearsals and music lessons. Everywhere I turn, my house stores cherished memories of a life well-lived.

With two decades of memories in that house, it felt like a piece of me had been left behind when I lived elsewhere for a few years. The lilacs I’d planted first bloomed in the spring of the first year I was away. I stopped by to see them, to breathe their perfume, and to steal a few sprigs for my apartment across town. And I grieved deeply for all that had been lost, albeit only temporarily. Later that year, when my grown daughters came home for Christmas, they gave me an ornament inscribed with the aphorism, “Home is where the mom is.” A corner had been turned.

The real gift was the healing their present brought, and a message that becomes more relevant as we age. At some point, many of us find it makes sense to consider a smaller, easier-to-maintain residence, or perhaps realize the benefits of a senior community or supportive living would better suit our needs. The decision to leave one’s home is difficult, in part because it feels like an admission that we’ve lost a degree of independence, that time has somehow made us less than we once were. But complicating the decision is the emotional accrual that “home” represents. Leaving the house behind is like walking away from a lifetime.

What I came to understand that Christmas is this. It’s the moments that make a house a home -- the living and loving, enduring tough times and celebrating hardwon victories, and all the mundane acts in between that accummulate until they are palpable enough to embrace us when we walk through the door. Lovely furniture, glistening hardwood floors, and portraits on the walls are nice to look at, but it’s the living that takes place within those walls that turns a simple dwelling into a place of beauty. By that measure, my humble abode is very beautiful indeed.

And by that measure, any place we choose to dwell can become home. When we live fully and deeply, we infuse the space between our walls with substance, fill it with meaning, and engage in an ongoing process of building memories.

Turning a new place into a home, more than anything, requires heart. The space between the walls becomes a reflection of who you are at the most essential level. It echoes of the passions that consume your time, the thoughts that fill your mind, the goals you work to achieve, the struggles you overcome, and the dreams you hold for the future.

Making a new dwelling your home happens moment by moment, as you put down roots and begin to make your mark on your surroundings. For example, being away from home the spring my lilacs first bloomed made me ache for the time I used to spend in my gardens. When I accepted that my new life would be different from what I’d known, I found ways to make that life more of what I wanted it to be. A small bed of flowers and pots on the patio let me enjoy what I loved, on a smaller scale. And just like that, the apartment started to feel like home.

If you’re facing the holidays for the first time in a new space, you have a perfect opportunity to start building the memories that will make it a home. Keep old traditions that still fit your new life, but don’t be afraid to create fresh ones, too. Make them reflections of who you are now and of the people you cherish.

Since I returned to this house after my hiatus, life has changed. True, the place resumed its status as my refuge, the gardens again claim my attention each spring and summer, and the Christmas tree will be placed in its usual spot in front of the picture window in just a few weeks. But now I focus on the things that make a house a home: the people I love, and the acts that make a difference and bring joy to the world around me. Home isn’t just a place; it’s where your heart lives.