Essays from West of 98: Home and Community

What does “home” mean to you? I suspect we all have a different definition. “Home” might be the place where we grew up. It might be where we currently reside. It might be a place that no longer exists as it once did, except in our memories. Those memories might be emphasized visually or through sounds and smells that made the place so special. Or, we might not have a special place that we truly call “home.”

I have spent the last few months writing heavily on the idea of human connection to individual places. I have done so while my family has been temporarily removed from our own special place that we call home. That irony is not lost on me, but I think the last few months have also sharpened some of my thoughts. As you might recall, we had a small electrical fire in our house in late August. The damage was thankfully limited, but we had to move out entirely for the repairs. Some special friends opened their AirBnB to us and our family made some fond memories over two months in that lovely house. But we moved back “home” over the weekend and as we all know, if you do have that special place called home, there’s no place like it, even if it’s still in a state of repair.

Our house currently contains a minimum of furniture and furnishings. We are finishing up some work, but we are also taking a long look at just what we need and want in our house. When you live in a temporary residence, you learn a lot about the actual necessities. A few times, we had to dig something out of storage. Other times, certain items have not been missed. We did not have television (apart from a handful of DVDs) and two months without television did not sadden me at all. Forced minimalism, even under undesirable circumstances, can be healthy and cleansing.

The prior owners built our house in the 1970s and spent decades making it their own. We bought it in 2016 and have spent the last half decade doing the same. In some ways, we are now doing it over again with a fresh view of things. Even after our years of work, our house has several limitations. Some of them can be changed, others will be perpetually limiting as long as we reside there.

As Lauren and I worked around the house and yard this weekend, we talked about some of those limitations and some of the items that make our place special. Moving to a different, larger house would resolve the limitations, but it would require us to give up some of the things about the house that we hold so dear, from the original 1970s turquoise kitchen countertops to the back lot on which we have toiled for hours at our garden.

Houses are a challenge. They will never be perfect. We can shape them to fit our lives to an extent, but they also shape our lives around their limitations. In the end, I find it more rewarding to live within those boundaries (even if they are frustrating) than just to wipe the slate clean and start over.

So it is with our communities, too. They are challenging. They are imperfect. We can shape them, but we will also be shaped by their limitations. And being shaped by those limitations—be it home or community—can be a powerful thing if you let it.

We have spent the last two months removed from the special place we call home. We are glad to be back, shaping our place and letting it shape us, but we return with more knowledge about ourselves and the things that truly matter.

If you do not have a special place you call home—be it a house or a community or both—don’t be frustrated. That place is out there. When you find it, if you work to shape it, but also let it shape you, then you will find a closer connection to place, loved ones, and self than you can possibly imagine.

James Decker is the Mayor of Stamford, Texas and the creator of the West of 98 website and podcast. Contact James and subscribe to these essays at westof98.substack.com and subscribe to West of 98 wherever podcasts are found.