Yesterday I was talking about one definition of home as being the separation between your own private space and the rest of the world. Another one that I think a lot of people might have is home as the container that separates their belongings from everybody else’s. Many people have told me the reason they can’t do what I’m doing is that they could never ever give up all their things; home is a place to put your stuff. The irony is, most people buy all that stuff because if they didn’t their home would be a series of empty rooms. They buy stuff to make their big home more comfortable. And of course we all want the biggest home we can afford, right? That’s part of the game as we were taught it: life is a constant struggle to keep claiming more space, and collecting more things. We want the space, and the things, to be ours.

With this definition the idea of my modular home fails, because the bathroom, the kitchen, the study… they’re not mine, they’re shared. With strangers no less! I’m getting all the same needs met, but it’s happening out in the community. Few belongings, no fixed address, and doing most essentials in shared public places… to a lot of people that really does mean homeless.

Hmm. So how come I’m so happy?