What constitutes home differs profoundly from person to person. For some it is an oasis, some a roving caravan, others a portal, and others a network connecting multiple points. And of course, for many, home is a traditional-type place or person.
The idea of a constellation particularly appeals to me. It’s a network connecting multiple points across vast distances. Not everyone can see it, giving constellations a kind of magic. They point in a direction. And it is always there, even if sometimes you can’t see it.
Even more, I think of creating a home as making a parachute. Like there’s this huge expanse of cloth. And whenever I find something—a concept, an idea, a person, a place—that resonates, I put a stitch in it. The location of each stitch is a deeply personal decision made under careful consideration that needs no justification beyond the resonance I feel within me.
Each stitch is placed mindfully and always with love. In my mind’s eye, I see the fabric and feel myself holding the needle and pulling the thread, my love wound in every turn. This way, the strength and security flow both ways. The people, places, and ideas provide me with safety and stability while I imbue each with love and resiliency.
A long strong rope connects all the spots where I put a stitch. I can hold the rope and I can leap. The fabric becomes a parachute, and I am always safe.
Let me share what might seem both a radical and utterly everyday example. I was a home once. Me. My body. My body was my daughter’s first home, the place where she first lived and grew. Interestingly, I didn’t provide her that home alone. My daughter and I built her abode together.
I gave her a womb. And she made inroads into it. Using hormones, amino acids, and cytokines, she sent signals to direct our shared growth. Together, we collaborated on creating the placenta, both of us contributing cells and blood vessels to facilitate our constant communication. This communication included boundaries—the maternal-fetal barrier—that protected and sustained us through her first home until it was time for her to move. When that time finally came, my womb contracted and her legs pushed.
Whatever your image of home, home is something built together. A home isn’t found. A home is created together through feelings and acts of love and care, through presence and tradition, even including the conflicts and repairs made by the people within it.