Building My Own Damn House (But Not By Myself)

Volunteering at Habitat for Humanity on Saturday, I worked with my colleague Sister S to install door casings. A group in the downstairs bathroom worked together on cabinets, and another person measured, cut, and nail gunned moldings. Some people painted. At another unit further away from completion, groups installed dry wall. One man, a frequent volunteer and confident builder, worked to finish framing roofs. He hopped from board to board like a pirate in riggings. Next door to where we worked, the family that would eventually move into that house installed parts of their future kitchen. I didn't meet the people who would move into the house on which I worked, but I could feel the moments they'd have there, the mud they'd track into the entry, the scent of food cascading down the stairs, and how warm the sun would feel to them as it streamed into their living room.

On a Habitat for Humanity build site, walking backwards with your eyes the opposite direction of where you're moving, even when you're helping someone carry something heavy, is not allowed. Everyone must always look and move forwards.

It's no secret to my friends and family that I plan to purchase a house sometime in the next year. It'll be a fixer, not in a hip neighborhood, but I'll no longer be stranded in the suburbs paying lots of rent for something that'll never be mine. Most importantly, it'll be my little piece of earth. But here, in this city, I'll need help from my community to make this happen.

The community that builds the Habitat houses is a combination of weak and strong ties: the family who will own the house, their friends, and city-dwellers who just feel like working on construction for a day. The importance of finding help not just in the more obvious strong ties, but particularly in the loose ties became clear to me a few years ago when I first heard the story The Hostess with the Toastess on This American Life. After listening to the history of Giuletta Carelli and the way she saved her own life by building her community of loose connections, I cried. Now that I work in her neighborhood, I occasionally stop by Trouble Coffee for a perfect latte. I'm part of her loose connections.

My circumstances are completely different than Carelli's, but the need for community, ties both strong and weak, is just as real.

The home of my future will only happen with the help of strong ties—my family, my friends—and loose ties—my colleagues, trustworthy tradespeople and real estate professionals, neighbors who may be willing to lend a hand, and those whose roles I can't yet imagine. Thank you, people who will help me. There will always be room for you at my future table. I look forward to feeding you.