What is home?
Home is a word and an idea I’ve been trying to nail down for a while. When I left D, I think my idea of home was all wrapped up in him being with me in it. I think *he* felt like home to me – or had for a while.
When I didn’t have him, I had no place (or person) to call mine for a number of years besides my car and then my van – which never felt like home.
I did have a one month period with an airbnb guest house and I remember the first night taking a shower and being so happy that I had a random naked dance party with myself jumping on the bed. That place felt like home – maybe because it was mine (even temporarily), maybe because it was tucked away in this hidden space no one could find and I felt safe.
We seek that as kids too – a place that we can be alone with ourselves without the burden of others’ expectations of us. I remember walking in on L and T in their home one time. They were both lying on the floor on their backs with their heads underneath a hexagonal table. T was emotional and I asked what was going on. He said “Oh, I’m just remembering how I used to imagine so many worlds under this table. And feeling how safe it felt under here back then – and now I’m letting people share it with me.” We spent hours brainstorming about how we could paint scenes underneath this table now and make it again a space for our thoughts and fantasies.
I was jealous he had such a place – I never did as a kid. And maybe that is partly why I so crave that now.
Someone told me on the beginning of my journey that home wasn’t where my home or stuff was – it was a place inside of me where I fully accepted myself and then let people in. It was profound for me and I still think of it a lot.
Similarly, when I moved into my van without a home base, I wrote A and said “I have no home.” I was terrified. His response was, “You do.” And shared his address with me. I cried when I read that – at the time, we hardly knew each other and had only met in person once thus far.
After a couple years, I believe both are correct – to an extent. I think we do have to have home within ourselves *and* a physical place we know others accept us too (that doesn’t necessarily need to be where you are physically most of the time).
I live in a community house now with A and C and A’s kids half the time. It is a place of love and acceptance, cuddles and support, food and warm hearts. Everyone is welcome. We host cuddle parties and dance house gatherings. We talk a lot. We cry together. We have so many guests and hammocks and a space outside to talk throughout the night. Despite the fact that I’ve been traveling this month with all of the people of the community house, I’ve missed our space together and the dog and…home.
Colorado has also always felt like home too even though it’s only been my residence for a couple of years now. It feels free, secluded, full of adventure and accepting people who give no fucks about society expectations.
I realized that as far as making a home inside of me – that for a time, I needed to close the door fully and completely and stop chasing after others’ validation of me. But maybe…maybe now it is time to open that door again – not to seek validation, but to let people in to see all the work I’ve done inside (the drywalling, the doors, the foundation), to be welcomed into a place where we can work on the decorating together.
I want to make a home for the homeless. And sometimes that homeless person is me.