I'm going to let you in on a little secret: my parents are building a house on Cape Cod. I've never seen one constructed before, but every day we spend here I'm transfixed by the activity that surrounds us, and the fruits of this immense labor. Especially the stage of framing right now; it may not have windows or doors, shingles or floorboards, but the bones are there. You can stand in the sand and run your eye along these elegant forms made out of wood and joined together with mortise and tenon like they were always intended to be just so. It lives.
You can think back to when it was just words and lines on paper and marvel at the team that has brought it to life. You know that one day soon this structure will protect you from the elements and serve as a vessel to hold all your beloved possessions, animate and inanimate. There will be glass and walls and paint and ducting and wiring and finishing and furniture and so much to come, but in your mind it's already a home.