Building community as a wildflower

I'll watch your dog and your kids ... I just might need a plane ticket to get there.

I crave community.

It’s true. Despite all the moving I’ve done, I want roots.

There aren’t many places that have felt like home to me. And what does “home” even mean? For some, it means the place they grew up or, maybe, their parents’ house. For homeowners, maybe that house or condo is home.

As an apartment dweller, forever renter and occasional roommate, the safest, most comfortable, most “mine” place has often been my car. Perhaps that’s why, in 2019, when my Honda Fit was totaled in a hit-and-run, it was so devastating. I didn’t just lose the biggest investment of my twenties or my way to get around, I lost my home.

To clarify, I was housed. There are many people who are not and I can’t say that my sense of vehicle-as-home is anywhere near akin to that experience. Thinking about all of this, though, has helped me figure out what “home” means to me.

I say I’m home when I arrive at the place I live — the place where my stuff is, the place where, for so long, my cat was. Cosmo was my home.

All summer, I was afraid that the house my partner and I rent together wouldn’t feel like home anymore. Right after Cosmo died, we left for Oregon. I stayed longer than I meant to, passing the summer days away picking berries, writing, and, eventually, teaching. Sometimes I missed girls’ night, the desert heat and the swimming pool enough to nearly come back, but then I remembered that, this time, if I came home ahead of my boyfriend and our dog, I’d truly be alone.

There was no Cosmo. Just an empty cat tower.

So, I avoided it.

We’re back now and, it pleases me to say, our house does still feel like home. The block we walk the dog around before the sun hits peak power, that feels like home.

But so does Napa, where I thrived in a supportive newsroom and a community where it seemed everyone really knew my name — or, at least, that I was the “Jersey Girl.”

And so does New Jersey where, despite having no family house to return to or a parent I’d want to stay with, my high school friends always greet me with a warm welcome. They continually forgive my long absences and enthusiastically fill me in on details I should know already, if only I’d have been there or been better at calling.

I suspect that there are pockets of North Carolina and Oregon, too, that will always feel like a sort of home. Maybe even Malaysia, though my trip was short and years ago. There is something about these places that stays with me. I can feel the difference in the air still, the stickiness, the salt, the relief in the rain, the chill of the winter air aching my lungs.

Part of me wants to stay where I am, another wants to return to one of these places — somewhere else I once felt was home. Then I remember that New Jersey didn’t make me feel this way until I left. Would I love it as much if I returned?

My heart is divided in miles. I long to be bicoastal. I long for the drive, the distance, the plane ride to be shorter, less expensive. I’ve sorted my life in such a way that I’m destined for heart break.

But I still can’t imagine it going any other way. I can’t imagine giving back any of these experiences — even the bad ones because, what if that was the price I had to pay to get the good ones?

So, here I am in a state of suspension. I don’t know what is next. I do know, though, that there are people eager to have me back in all of the places and others happy to have me stay where I’m currently planted. I’m so lucky to have that.

If only I could have everyone come to me. I daydream about owning a sprawling piece of land I could share with my community or a finding a neighborhood we could all buy houses in. I never expected to be someone who wanted to be at the baby showers and kids’ birthday parties, but I am. I want it. I want to be able to take care of my friends when they’re sick or sad, or both. I want to be the cool aunt to my nephew — a present one who can pick him up spontaneously and take him to the boardwalk or help him with homework after school. I want to be the cool aunt to my friends’ kids. Maybe I can even watch the dogs while you’re away.

And, one day, if I have another living being of my own in this world, maybe you’d drop by and be a good influence on them. Or teach me how to change a diaper.

So, in the words of Mister Rogers, “Would you be mine? Could you be mine? Won't you be my neighbor?”

Recommended listening:

Death, Sex & Money - Why Ezra Klein thinks “We’re living through a mistake”

The New York Times journalist Ezra Klein thinks a lot about the impacts of policy and systems on our personal lives. On his podcast, The Ezra Klein Show, he recently mentioned how American society insufficiently supports families of young kids, and wondered why living in community is so hard, and the isolation that it can breed as a result.

NPR Life Kit: How to be a supportive adult in a kid’s life (even if you don’t have or want any children of your own!)

If this sort of stuff interests you, I’ve put together a Spotify playlist of some of the podcast episodes that have influenced me or that I’m currently thinking about. You can find that here:

Most of these are available on other platforms as well, but Spotify is what I currently have access to. Suggestions welcome.