The word home has never been encompassed by something simple or easy for me. Where I was born and where I lived when I was ten hold no significant answers. Current home makes the topic no easier to describe. Is it possible my home lays in myself and all of the movements I am composed of more than in a sedentary location? A sedentary group of people?
Going along with home, the question of where I’m from holds an answer as nuanced as the cells in my body, the thoughts in my head. I come from books I read, people I hug, and living rooms where sleeping on the couch is as comfortable as staying up until midnight talking. The problem with my idealist statements is that a sense of fromness is intrinsically linked to geography, physical locations where relationships and growth play out. And it is true, geography has defined me. The togetherness I found in New York has allowed me to love, the lessons I learned in Alabama has allowed me to love in different ways. Love has given me the ability to find homes in wonderful, beautiful, magical people. Homes that have danced in the connections people make, connections that develop in physical spaces, between people who have lived and will die in many physical places. Love has given me the ability to find homes in the words I write and the ways I move through physical infinities.
The froms are endless – Connecticut, California, New York, Alabama, Skopje, Gjirokaster, Ljujbljana, Stanford, Auburn, Elizabeth, Henrik, Josie, Leah, Mery, Lukas, pancakes, lakes, feminism, hills, soft lights – but they are strung together by love, which might just be the biggest from of them all.
So I’m not looking for a home. I’ve had one from the very beginning because coming into this world means coming into love.