I usually avoid the word ‘homeless’ when I’m talking about this project. I use words like ‘nomadic’ instead because I want to convey my excitement about it, and the fact that it’s a choice, not a necessity. And when I talk to people they get it, but I can almost always sense a little bit of concern as well: that word ‘homeless’ is lurking around the corner. So I want to reassure everyone.

For the last 11 years I’ve been working with an organization that provides a range of housing options to people who have a history of homelessness, so I’m very aware of the vast differences between my kind of homelessness and the real thing: I have the power to make this end if or when I want to; people won’t be able to tell from looking at me that I’m homeless and treat me poorly because of it; the shelter that I do have is very comfortable  and safe compared to, say, a piece of cardboard under a viaduct; my life is not going to be a daily fight for survival; my childhood will never contain the kind of horrors that most people who are homeless have survived. So it’s not just that I want to avoid the stigma of the word homeless; it’s also that I have no right to claim it.

The project is about home, definitely. It takes away the traditional walls of home and asks me where the new walls will be. Is my home shrinking to the size of a van, or is it growing to the size of a city? Can it be a network of invisible lines connecting the couches of all my friends? This city feels full of people who love and support me, but what will it feel like if I leave the city? Could home really be everywhere?

In short, don’t worry, folks! My guess is that what I’ll feel at the end of all this is a deep sense of homefullness.