For a long time, I haven’t felt like I’ve had only one physical place that has felt like home. There’s a bench between some large tree’s near Lake Huron where I’ve spent many summers for the past eighteen years where I feel at home. I feel at home in my Gramma’s living room on Christmas Day. I feel at home at café tables across the world while I read or sit and chat with a good friend. I feel at home in my person’s apartment when he’s cooking for me and I’m puttering with my books in his space. I feel at home in my parents’ house when we stand around the island catching up after a long time of me not being home. I feel at home in this new blanket I bought for my bed after becoming a Candidate. I feel at home at my supervisor’s house drinking rose juggling her children and a conversation about the state of the world.
My home, it has seemed for a while now, is where my heart is. Where I can feel my heart beating, where I feel most alive and secure and content. Where I sometimes feel challenged (rehearsal/creation spaces, conference spaces), and also where I am most accommodated and supported.
I’ve really been thinking through the feminist practice of world-making and how worlds are created reliant on other factors surrounding the intention of the world. Is “home considered a world? I feel in alternative communities, communities that are oppressed or found, such as the disabled academic community on twitter that I am now a vibrant part of and it’s a part of my life, strives to create a home, a world, a space, in which we can find intimacy and familiarity and support within the worlds and systems and structures that are built despite of the ways in which we interact with it. Home-making, for disabled people in Canada, seems to be where we reach our arms out to those who experience similar oppression and barriers that we do, and hold on to share strength and resources.
So has home-making been a thing I have been “making”? Or have I been carrying home, carrying world, with me? Is my heart, as part of my body, carried for and with me to create a home wherever I feel those feelings that I attribute to home-ness? Is my body practice, in which I mean being painfully self-aware of my body, emotions, heart, and home-ness, as well as being present as much as I possibly can safely a part of the home-making in which is integral to surviving in this fast-paced, over-saturated with (bad) news and violence, radically changing at a pace that is unstable, and brilliantly beautiful world?
The name of this blog might be changing in the new year to reflect more of what I’m hoping to write. This is my journal, reflecting the struggle of a disability-identified Blind woman who has varying degrees of privilege and barriers in the academy and in the urban Canadian society of Toronto. In the past this space has been for me to embody and attempt blog-making, capitalist-endorsed work, but also has been a space of frustration and navigation of this world. I’ve been writing blogs since 2010 as storytelling and expression. The print medium, despite being an energy suck for my remaining eyesight, is still painful to release from my daily practice.
I want this digital space to be an ecology of personal, academic, and activist home-making, in the sense that it could be a place for me to plant my heart to recharge, digitally, accessibly, to ruminate and grow for me to take some space and time from always holding these things inside of me.
Does that make sense? It might. It might not. Change is good. Breathe.