New Zealand: Home is Where the Gratitude Is

 

I once heard someone say that the homelessness problem should instead be addressed as a houselessness problem. It’s about adequate shelter, not about the credit you build up when you can make monthly payments on a dwelling. It’s about carving out a small space for yourself in a world teeming with bodies but which has millions of homes sitting empty for large parts of the year, as they are regulated to second/third/vacation home status.

By a certain set of standards, I am technically homeless. I do not pay rent, a mortgage, or utilities. I do not own my own bed or desk or even hangers for my clothes. I am a housesitting traveler, and I rely on the kindness of strangers for a place to sleep. There are different types of housesitting or home stays. You can create an account online, spread the word through friends, or, the type I’m most thankful for, be taken in by relative strangers. This last scenario is not simply a business transaction, a bed for services rendered, but a conscious recognition of filling a need on both sides of the coin. If a space is sitting empty, I’m happy to occupy it. This form of social currency is worth much more than mere property value.

People open their homes to me when I travel, which is remarkable in this day and age. With global security tightened in an iron fist and suspicions of strangers heightened to a frenzy, I’m inspired by generosity I have experienced:   when relatives of graduate school classmates offered me their attic when I moved to Boston, Massachusetts when the high school best friend of a fellow dinner party guest in Massachusetts offered a housesit when I moved across the country to Portland, Oregon when the woman I met on the plane to New Zealand introduced me to her friends who are offering spare rooms, housesits, and empty vacation homes during the year I am here

Who are these people, so unselfish, so giving? They’re computer programmers, artists, nurses, bankers, and teachers. They’re men and women, young and old, single and married. Their commonality is in their attitude: their willingness to share their space, their stories, their food, and their lack of judgment for the way I’ve chosen to live my life. Every time someone literally or figuratively opens his or her arms in welcome, I am humbled by that gift. Yet, it’s a double-edged appreciation. On one hand, I am awed to understand that the reason I have someplace warm and safe to sleep tonight, when thousands of people are hunkered down outside anywhere they can find room, is because someone took me in. On the other hand, I feel the weight of the responsibility of this life being my choice. How can I both honor the consideration that is shown to me daily while also recognizing that it is my own privilege that brought me here?

I’m an educated, relatively attractive, well-spoken white woman. I have chosen minimalistic living, cheap travel, and artistic pursuits as a source of income when I have no doubt that if I put on the right clothes (business casual, borrowed), formatted the right résumé (printed at the library), and shook the right hands (dry palm, firm grip), I could get a job earning high five figures a year. Instead, when I purchase a new car (used), I make sure it’s one I can sleep in. When I purchase clothing (second-hand), I consider how many outfits I can make with each article.

I’m adept at seeking out free activities, bartering at markets, and tightening my belt to make today’s food allowance last until tomorrow. Why? Because I’m trying to experience the world and understand my value in it. But every time someone stretches out his or her hand to me, I question: Would the world be as welcoming to me if I were anyone different? In the end, I console myself that because I cannot change who I am, all I can do is appreciate the kindness being given, return it with thanks, and pass it along to others without expectation. I live by the golden rule in doing unto others the way I want to be treated, sharing my scant food, offering coin when I have it, and making room beneath my shelter for others. This lifestyle won’t last forever.

Someday, I’ll find my own corner of the world, staying long enough to grow something. Create a home where I will invite people in, to give back the way I’ve been given. I am looking forward to when that time comes, thankful for the opportunity to pass on the bed, the food, the stories, and most importantly, the sense of community, to my own visitors.

Thank you for reading and commenting. Please enter the Gratitude Travel Writing competition and tell your story.

Gratitude Travel Writing Contest

We hope you enjoyed this entry in the We Said Go Travel Gratitude Writing Contest. Please visit this page to learn more and participate. Thank you for reading the article and please leave a comment below.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

We Said Go Travel