Questions on what it means to actually live somewhere
So, we’re on the road now. Not actually, as I am currently writing this at a pool-side table under an umbrella in a little condo community in Mexico that more closely resembles Del Boca Vista than anything really foreign, exotic, or indicative of traveling.
What I mean, I guess, is that we are not at home. But that’s the funny thing. See, we actually are. As we have discussed at length prior, we have no home. Kind of. We have no house and no apartment. Sort of. We have no mortgage, no lease, no place to call our own. We now live in a somewhat random collection of short-term rentals…but isn’t that what apartments are? Isn’t the term short-term relative? We do occupy a space that we pay for, and have for a while. But, when asked, neither of us will say we live here.
Since leaving Denver last year we’ve occupied a few places in Mexico before our plan to head to Europe. But again, when asked, neither of us will actually say that we live here. We’re not trying to be weird or coy or anything. It’s just habitual. Someone asks where we live and we can’t answer. We just look at each other in bewilderment. Why? That’s the question I have and one that is the reason for this post.
So, in the spirit of that question, and the existential crisis it created in me while considering it, I offer a few more questions to which we don’t have answers…yet.
What does it mean to live somewhere?
What makes a house a home?
What does it take to say you live somewhere?
It is surrounding yourself with your stuff? All your stuff, or just some of it?
Is it putting down roots? What does that even mean? What are those roots people keep talking about?
Is it investment? Do you need to pay for it; like pay a mortgage or rent? If so, then why don’t short term rentals or even hotel rooms seem to count?
Does the place you’re inhabiting need to be your only place? How would that reconcile with those who have multiple places?
Do you need to buy stuff for the place? Is it having certain things of yours, like a bed of your own, or can you just buy a blender and suddenly the place is yours (yeah, we bought a blender)? Does that mean you can never “live” in a previously furnished rental unit?
Speaking of stuff, see our post on what stuff we feel is important
Maybe it is the feeling of impermanence brought on by our temporarily nomadic life and knowing that we will move on soon. And, if that is the case, don’t we always know we will move on sometime? What elements of existence, life and living does it take to dispel feelings of impermanence? We had one of our houses for 12 years and always knew we would move some day, yet we think we lived there.
When we moved to Denver way back in the day our first residence was an appartment that we rented for 3 months while we looked for a house. We never planned for that to be permanent but, for some reason, we both consider ourselves having lived there. Now, however, we have lived in Mexico longer than that and don’t consider ourselves living here.
Please consider this my mid-post apology and acknowledgement that it is incredibly priveledged of us to be discussing these things, in these times, when so many others are suffering. But, hey, #toomuchtimeonmyhands.
Is it personal experience that makes a particular location able to be considered a place where you have lived? Consider our current location. We took classes here, shared food with a neighbor here, washed laundry here, bought kitchen goods here (albeit little ones), went to hospital here, grocery stores here, an art supply store here, and occupied places here for almost half a year. Hell, I even have an old lady wanting me to teach her yoga here. But still, we feel as if we didn’t (and don’t) “live” here.
Is it a neighborhood thing – feeling welcome and in your element? What does that mean? We have a local bar here. It’s called Drinking Time (we call it Drinking Tim as that is the name that comes through on credit card statements, or just Timmy for short – as in, hey, let’s go see Timmy). The bartender knows us…not by name but by the only thing that matters to us bar peeps…by what we like to drink. We walk up and the beers quickly are in hand without having to ask. Or, is it local events in which we participate, once or even more than once, that makes a home. Is it frequency, repetition, habit, routine?
We have these trinkets – tiny little statues of three Asian wisemen that we picked up in Singapore’s Chinatown. We’ve had these guys for years and they have always occupied a special place in our hearts and a special place on our mantle. We have a little Japanese Buddha figurine that we love and which has moved from place to place with us. We have old Christmas stockings, a really cool little wind chime, and a couple pictures that we didn’t render digitally that, along with the three wisemen and the Buddha are sitting in storage in a friends basement. These things are all we have left beyond clothing and gear. We didn’t want to get rid of these in one of our many purges. Is it that we don’t have them here with us? Is it those little things, the stuff other than the phone, glasses, and dental night guard that need to be sitting on the bed stand next to us for that place to be a home?
On the more existential, is living somewhere a product of finding that elusive element that connects you with that place? Is it love? If so, then what makes that place “the place?” Like, is it that makes Omaha Omaha? Or, is it all simply time? If we lived in this place for another year, would it matter? What about three more years? Would it be home? Would we say we lived here?
Now, before any of you say some shit like, “home is where you hang your hat,” “home is where you lay your head,” or “home is where Lael is,” just don’t. Lael and I have hung hats, laid our heads, and been together in countless hotel rooms, b&bs, guest rooms, hostels and tents all over the world in places that we would never think to claim to have lived.
So, what is it? Or, do we just decide one day?
I want answers, dammit, and for reasons no more important than those of stupid philosophy. I want know know what it takes to simply feel like you’ve lived somewhere. Now it’s Timmy Time. Maybe he knows.
