“Where Are You From?”
Seems like a simple enough question, doesn’t it? We’ve all asked it. We’ve all heard it. And it’s one of my least-favorite questions. My general response is “I’m not really from anywhere,” though, as soon as I say it, I feel like a dismissive jerk.
I realize the question is intended to tell you a little something about the person you’ve just met, that ‘where they’re from’ has some bearing on their culture, beliefs, upbringing, customs, accents, etc., but it also implies that the place getting a mention has had a significant effect on the person, or is the place they return to from time to time… maybe even calling it “home.” It may or may not be where they were born, but rather, where they spent their most formative years.
And that’s the thing: no matter where I mention as an easy answer, it’s wrong.
I was born in a place, but moved before I was 3. Started school in the second state, then left school and the state. We home schooled through three different states, in total — sometimes legally, sometimes trailblazing. I’ve lived in a couple of states more than once. I learned to drive on an ice-covered mountain. I learned to learn from an introverted bookworm who knew that “I don’t know, yet,” is an acceptable answer. I learned to live through the stories and advice of those who’d already settled into their wheelchairs. I learned about family from those we welcomed into our hearts and houses over the years. I’ve pulled parts from junkyard cars in three separate states. I learned to crochet in one state, make gumbo in another, ride motorcycles in a third, and build a bamboo fort in one more. I’d venture to say that my “formative years” were spent in a region, rather than a place.
The most sentimental bits from each of these places — houses, hangouts, people — are long since gone, as well, so I don’t call any of them “home.”
Culture Is a Funny Thing
When I was young, I was told that if something didn’t make sense, or if I had a better idea, I should mention it and we could decide what traditions, routines, activities, beliefs, etc., we wanted to perpetuate as a family. This was priceless. It meant that I wasn’t just expected to be an obedient child, I was also expected to pay attention and ask questions — that my thoughts and opinions mattered. This is a super-simple little thing that completely changed the way I grew up — 4 yr olds don’t usually have a “voice” in decision making.
If you think the “terrible twos” are awful, you should have seen my first 20 years.
I must admit: I’m especially critical of traditions. These things that we do, over and over, without ever really looking at what we’re doing, why we’re doing it, or asking an incredibly important (and drastically underutilized) question, “is this something I want to continue doing?”
I ask this question a lot. “Is this something I want to continue doing?” Sometimes, the answer is yes. Sometimes, it’s no. And sometimes, it changes over time. All of these things are ok and I revisit topics frequently.
To this day, I’d have to say that making decisions is one of my favorite activities. The act of deciding leaves me feeling alive and like an active participant in my life. I see a lot of the things we do culturally as ways to reduce the number of decisions we make on a daily basis — for some, I imagine that habits/routines/rituals free up the mind to think about things that are more personally worthwhile, but for me, I enjoy deciding whether or not to do something based on something other than my schedule or habits.
My Past vs. My Future
I read “my past does not determine my future” on a random meme at least once a week, but try explaining that in real terms. It’s not impossible, but it’s much harder than you might think.
As soon as I let the “I don’t really have a ‘home'” out of the bag, I’m suddenly viewed as a flight risk — personally and professionally. It’s as if we don’t trust anyone unless we believe they’re tethered to something. But here’s what has occurred to me: I may not have a “home,” but that means I get to build one… wherever I like… with whomever I like… and I get to start new traditions (or rekindle old ones) that make sense to me.
Not just a considered life, but a designed one.
Wouldn’t you rather live and work with people who are choosing to be where they are? Choosing to be doing what they’re doing?
This Is Just the Beginning
Once upon a time, about 20 years ago, with all of this as a foundation, I started looking into minimalist and mobile living solutions.
In college, I even had my eye on a Vanagon Westfalia. I’m not sure anyone realized that I wasn’t just laughing at “living in a van down by the river,” but was seriously considering it. (Bravo, Mr. Farley.)
Well,… I finally decided to give my very own Tiny House a go, and this is where I’ll be telling my Tiny Stories about the good, the bad, the sentimental, and the real-life adjustments that go along with building and living in a Tiny House.
I hope you enjoy the ride!
XOXO,
