At a banquet at MIT last March, a group of students and I were speaking to a professor when she asked us where home was for each of us. My usual answer alternates between Ethiopia, where I was born and raised until I was thirteen, and Atlanta, where my family settled in America. But that night, I answered with a truth I hadn’t known until it left my tongue: home is where my art supplies are. Just like that, a simple epiphany clarified so much of my tendencies. 

When I think about my house in Atlanta, I first picture my art table that holds my paints and pencils. When I moved to Brooklyn for a summer, my dad was fed up with all the luggage I brought with me. “Will you really use all of this?” my dad asked, pointing to my oversized gear bag, paint supply box, and sewing machine, to which I firmly asserted, “Of course.” Reader, I did not touch any of my photography gear that summer. I sewed one top that summer. I don’t think I even painted. But one thing held true–the knowledge that the tools I needed to make anything my heart desired were all in my room was all I needed to make that Airbnb my home for a summer. 

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Like most, if not all, recent graduates, I’ve been ruminating on the meaning of home. What makes a home? How do you build a home? When does a house become a home? I spent the summer after graduation in Seattle, where I stayed in a hotel for the duration of an internship. Despite lugging my art supplies across the coast, I lived out of my suitcase for those three months. Why did that work for Brooklyn but not Seattle? Maybe it was because I was the furthest I’d ever lived away from my family. Maybe it was because my room didn’t get direct sunlight. Maybe it was because I felt out of place in an area without many Black people. Through this self-interrogation, I’m beginning to discover what I consciously and subconsciously believe makes a home.  

Every place I live is an opportunity to build a home, slowly uncovering what I value and thus really who I am. A home is where you’re both able to feel safe and to be your fullest self. In the months I’ve been in London, I’ve been rejecting, confirming, or forming new hypotheses on my home and identity. Indeed, the table I placed in front of a window with direct sunlight has made a marked difference in my mood and motivation to create. On the other hand, I’m the furthest I’ve been away from my family, yet I don’t feel the distance. These are the types of theories that can only be challenged in practice, shaping my beliefs and, in turn, my identity. And what better way to be in action than to live abroad? 

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Frankly, I’ve been a better student in the past four months living in London than during my five years at MIT. Outside of work, you will find me shuffling between many courses I’m taking, such as drawing, pattern making, pole dancing, and rollerskating classes, to name a few. I’m making the time to not only read books but also annotate and synthesize the information I learn from them. I’m going to screenings, exhibits, and museums. In some ways, I’ve returned to my old high school self, where I’d spend my summers taking online courses on random special interests of mine.

I’ve always had the desire to do all of this during my undergrad too, but a few semesters at MIT was enough to dim that ambition. To be fair, finding the time to do this between psets was beyond difficult. By sophomore year, my lack of time and the difficulty of classes made passing classes my primary motivation to complete school work instead of my natural curiosity. And after five years of essentially on survival mode, I had all but lost my love of learning. 

I realized all of this in the weeks after graduation, so I tried to find local classes in Redmond, where I lived for the summer. To my disappointment, I found so few classes, and most of the ones available were at least a two-hour commute away. In stark contrast, London, as the creative capital of Europe and with one of the best public transport networks in the world, has been my student paradise. 

I feel free to lead with my curiosity. I’ve been exploring and learning at my own pace, taking detours whenever I desired. The triumphs of progress have replaced the shallow threat of failing grades as my motivation to work hard and continue. I have full permission to fail without punishment. Pole dancing, for instance, has transformed me.  For the first time in my life, I’ve found a physical activity that is actually enjoyable. Despite the pain and many failures, I feel driven to come to every class because I have seen myself improve before, so I feel assured I can do it again. This newfound mindset spills into my other activities. I’m markedly more patient with myself and find myself reframing mistakes as learning opportunities more than ever before. 

It’s no surprise then that London felt like home in no time. I’m grateful to the city for reigniting my passion for learning and helping me return to myself. So, as my time in London unfortunately starts to come to a close, I’ve been reflecting on some ideas I can take back with me to recreate a similar sense of home. 

For example, I’m learning to slow down in many ways. Slow down and look for the art around me. Slow down instead of trying to do everything. What this means practically is realizing that I might need to begin a practice where I take weekly walks to explore my neighborhood when I return to Atlanta. Or maybe I need to start visiting local galleries to see my community’s art regularly. I’m realizing that I need more time to myself than I thought, so I’m developing ways to ensure a secure work-life balance.  

I’ve been a student of myself during this time in London. I think part of the reason I’m learning so much has been because of the centralized nature of London. Perhaps it might be a natural inclination to try new things and develop new habits in a new city. What I do know is that experiencing the joy that came as a result of those new experiences has reinvigorated my commitment to put in the work to create my home anywhere I go.