Home sweet home

Being the nomadic soul I am, I have had a fair variety of living arrangements. I grew up in a townhouse style condominium, and lived there until I went to college. From that point on things go a little more … varied. In some cases maybe even creative. Throughout college I usually tried to live in singles (with varying success) which almost invariably meant living one of the older and more beat up dorms.

Of course the best room I ever had in a dorm was that one time my whole room was moved into the dorm bathroom as a practical joke.

After that I lived in all sorts of places. Anything from living out of my car to sharing a nice house with eight people and limited furniture. The one situation I have not managed to live in is the whole living in luxury lifestyle. I have never managed to live as a man of means. Which is not particularly surprising as I have never managed to BE a man of means.


Not that I am complaining. I have simple needs, and as long as I have a place to sleep, eat and do the other less palatable necessities, I am happy. For instance I am currently living in my parent’s "attic". Technically it is a loft room that has the entrance to the attic, but it is more fun to say I live in the attic.

Obviously other people have very different experiences, and different expectations for living arrangements. Especially those who have less "nomadic" lifestyles. I was recently reminded of a funny question once asked by the son of one of my more "comfortable" friends. At the time, I was living in a two bedroom apartment in Arizona. It was not a particularly large apartment, but neither was it particularly small. And as with most apartments in Arizona, the complex had various amenities such as a swimming pool.

My friend and his four children lived in a fairly large house, multiple bedrooms, a couple of floors, a large yard, etc. It even had columns on the front, kind of giving it a Roman villa look. His kids were all young, and this was probably the only home they had ever known.

One day I was joining my friend as his kids for an outing and he picked me up at my apartment. When I got in the car, his son, who I believe was maybe eight or nine at the time, asked, "Steve, why do you live in a hotel?"

It just goes to show you how much our perceptions are defined by how we have been raised!