packing

I've packed and unpacked over 15 times in the past 18 months.

Throughout this time I've been pondering what, where we lay our heads, gives us when it comes to creating Self. Persona. What does my apartment, yurt, megahouse, do for my confidence, my ability to achieve, my view of the future? How does not having one inform me?

I'm now in an apartment of my own. No one here but this chicken. No one else's stuffed animals and art supplies. Or concert posters, ad infinitum.

Just me and my fresh detritus.

How lovely.

And how does this make me feel different than when I'm out wandering in the world? What shape does this homeallmyown take in my belly when I strut down the street? How does it flavour my step?

I feel me. I feel grounded. I know more who I am somehow. It's ephemeral this value-added component. Ephemeral but vital.

I know there are others who wander the plains with just their sandals tied to the back of their bicycle and they're fine. They know themselves to be complete and unchanging. But me, I'm a sponge and I'm a nester. It's part of my creative repertoire. To create myself in environment and to soak that mileaux back into myself. To see 'me' in physical space.

There. Look. That chesterfield. That's me. That's my personality. Light, yellowed-turquoise and bamboo. Clean lines with a hint of pattern. Here, this mirror, plain and square and solid, giving you back a straight ahead reflection: that's what I do. No frills. Just truth.

This teapot. The lines all working together to support the flow of tea in the most artful way possible. Form following function joyfully, beautifully. Kinesthetically delightful to hold, to pour, to look at.

I have to think deeply into me to understand how 'home' makes me. Or to consider what not having my own 'home' does to my sense of 'me',my 'self' and 'I'.

All these quotes because now I know that who we think our selves to be, this solid thing we think we are: it's transient. It's plastic. Dependent on context. Relative to the space those around us grant us. We are watery, taking the shape of the situational vessel we find ourselves in.

And to resist this is to try to freeze time.

All you're left with is a cold breeze.

p.s. last night I had a dream that I was on the run. At first I thought I'd bring nothing. And then decided on my knapsack full of lightweight t-shirts.

Last night there was a fire in my old neighbourhood. An apartment building was evacuated.

Perhaps home is where we've invested ourselves over time. And even when away, even when we've moved on, our old neighbourhood remembers us and tells us who we are. And somehow, what we invested in it, still lives there.