I have lived in 39 apartments in New York City, some for years, others for a few weeks or months while in between more stable places. For reasons mundane and dramatic, pedestrian and also absurd, I have moved again and again and again. I used to joke that as soon as I put my address on my checks, I would be forced to move again.
Moving is an incredible proposition to Americans. It is loaded with the very framework of our national mythology. We are a nation founded on "frontier" mythology and on expansion as a tactic for reinvention and re-creation. Americans are taught that we can become new people by willing it to be so, divesting of old forms, old clothing and old dwellings and heading off for parts unknown. And New Yorkers are the worst, playing musical chairs with too-small apartments, always on the lookout for a better deal.
NO PLACE LIKE HOME is a search for roots, rest and dwelling. The book follows my adventures and mishaps over twenty years and a whole lot of apartments, from Barnard College honor roll to college dropout to struggling downtown performance artist and writer. My story unfolds through love affairs and road trips, psychic healers and Off-Off Broadway theaters, from Park Slope sublets to a fellowship at Juilliard. With each abode, I learn more about how to create a true home within how to heal the past, let go of excess, and reconcile the Buddhist ideal of nonattachment with the natural and correct desire for physical stability.
And it's a love story. About finding where you belong. And the romance of getting there.