There Is No Place like Home, Whatever That Is - Common Reader
“Home is not just the place where you happen to be born.
“家不仅仅是你出生的地方。
It’s the place where you become yourself.”
这是你成为你自己的地方。”
The house I share with my husband and dog is home for me .
我与丈夫和狗合住的房子就是我的家。
It is the place I long for when I am exhausted, sad, or cranky; the place where I can hide and stop worrying what the world thinks of me.
这是我在疲惫、悲伤、暴躁时向往的地方；一个我可以隐藏的地方，不再担心世界对我的看法。
The dog clearly agrees; the minute we turn onto the crunchy gravel drive he leaps up and runs back and forth between passenger seat and hatch in a frenzied blur, beside himself with joy.
狗显然同意了；当我们转向嘎吱作响的碎石车道时，他就跳了起来，疯狂地在乘客座位和舱门之间来回奔跑，欣喜若狂。
But for my husband (who I sometimes wish were less honest), the house where he grew up will always be home, too, in the most primal and maudlin sense of the word.
但对于我的丈夫（我有时希望他不那么诚实）来说，他长大的房子也永远是家，从最原始和伤感的意义上来说。
Early in our marriage, that particular house came up for sale, and I held my breath.
在我们结婚初期，那栋特别的房子被出售，我屏住了呼吸。
The neighborhood was no longer the sweet one of Andrew’s boyhood, but I feared that would not matter.
这个街区不再是安德鲁童年时的甜蜜街区，但我担心这并不重要。
I pictured the house as he might, its windows glowing as dark falls.
我想象着他想象中的房子，窗户在夜幕降临时闪闪发光。
It represented the safety, love, and warmth that had shaped him.
它代表了塑造他的安全、爱和温暖。
If you have someplace like that to return to, why would you not?
如果你有这样的地方可以回去，为什么不呢？
Odds are, it will be the first thing you draw: a box with a triangle on top, two square eyes to let the sunshine in, a tall door to let your friends in.
很可能，这将是你画的第一件事：一个顶部有三角形的盒子，两个让阳光进来的方形眼睛，一扇让你的朋友进来的高门。
It is your kangaroo pouch, familiar and comforting when the rest of the world is strange.
这是你的袋鼠育儿袋，当世界其他地方都陌生时，它既熟悉又令人安慰。
Andrew mentioned the sale only lightly; he did not insist that we buy his childhood home.
安德鲁只是淡淡地提到了这次出售。他没有坚持要我们买他童年的房子。
But it took me another decade to fathom the intensity of his relationship to that otherwise unremarkable house.
但我又花了十年时间才理解他与那座原本不起眼的房子的关系有多紧密。
“It’s been decades since you lived there!” I wanted to exclaim.
“你已经住了几十年了！”我想惊呼。
“We have made our own home together !”
“我们一起建立了自己的家！”
It makes sense, I kept reminding myself.
这是有道理的，我不断提醒自己。
In the first years of life, your home is your entire universe.
在生命的最初几年，你的家就是你的整个宇宙。
It cradles you and fills your senses.
它拥抱您并满足您的感官。
As soon as you can reach high, grab the shiny doorknob, and toddle outside, you see what your homeworld actually looks like.
一旦你到达高处，抓住闪亮的门把手，摇摇晃晃地走出去，你就会看到你的家乡到底是什么样子。
Odds are, it will be the first thing you draw: a box with a triangle on top, two square eyes to let the sunshine in, a tall door to let your friends in.
很可能，这将是你画的第一件事：一个顶部有三角形的盒子，两个让阳光进来的方形眼睛，一扇让你的朋友进来的高门。
It is your kangaroo pouch, familiar and comforting when the rest of the world is strange.
这是你的袋鼠育儿袋，当世界其他地方都陌生时，它既熟悉又令人安慰。
My earliest memories are not of a happy pouch.
我最早的记忆并不是一个快乐的袋子。
They only go back to the big, dim house in Bellerive Acres where my mother “moved back home,” as they say, my father having dropped dead of a heart attack on the golf course when I was eight months old.
他们只会回到贝勒里夫英亩那座又大又暗的房子，正如他们所说，我母亲“搬回了家”，我八个月大时，我父亲在高尔夫球场因心脏病去世。
A duplex, it was built of dark red brick, with a swoop of roof to one side and a pretty front porch no one used.
这是一栋复式公寓，由深红砖砌成，一侧有一个倾斜的屋顶，漂亮的前廊没人使用。
My great aunts lived upstairs and my grandparents downstairs, with me and my widowed mother tucked into the second bedroom.
我的姑婆住在楼上，祖父母住在楼下，我和寡居的母亲住在第二间卧室。
We always felt like boarders, though only now can I articulate that.
我们总是感觉自己像寄宿生，尽管直到现在我才能清楚地表达出来。
The living room was mainly brown, with a drab green scalloped rug and—surprise!—a pink Naugahyde armchair.
客厅主要是棕色的，铺着土绿色的扇形地毯，还有——惊喜！——一张粉红色的 Naugahyde 扶手椅。
Even as a little kid, I somehow knew my grandmother had not bought that chair as design whimsy.
即使当我还是个小孩子的时候，我就知道我的祖母买那把椅子并不是因为设计奇思妙想。
Either it was a close-out sale, or she bought it in spite, knowing that my poor beleaguered grandpa would have to sit in that sticky carnation-pink chair every night to drink his beer and read his newspaper.
要么是清仓甩卖，要么是她不顾一切地买下了它，因为她知道我可怜的、陷入困境的爷爷每天晚上都得坐在那张黏糊糊的康乃馨粉红色椅子上喝啤酒、看报纸。
When I was ten, my mother moved the two of us to an apartment, and the world burst open.
当我十岁的时候，我的母亲把我们两个搬到了一套公寓，世界突然打开了。
We bought plastic Parsons tables in bold colors and a blue and white mod stereo, and my friends came to hang out at the swimming pool.
我们买了颜色大胆的塑料帕森斯桌子和蓝色和白色的现代音响，我的朋友们来到游泳池闲逛。
From there, she bought a condo, and that Christmas Eve, we put together, with more laughter than skill, a ping-pong table in the basement.
从那里，她买了一套公寓，那个平安夜，我们用更多的笑声而不是技巧，在地下室放了一张乒乓球桌。
We sewed all the drapes ourselves, and we snuck out at midnight to break the condo association rules by repainting the turquoise door a calmer ivory.
我们自己缝制了所有的窗帘，半夜偷偷溜出去，打破了公寓协会的规定，把绿松石色的门重新漆成了更平静的象牙色。
Home was fun now.
现在家里很有趣。
Yet even that condo is not as rosy in my memory as Andrew’s childhood home.
然而，即使是那套公寓在我的记忆中也不像安德鲁童年的家那么美好。
In The Poetics of Space , Gaston Bachelard, a French philosopher writing about architecture, elegantly translates my confusion: “How can secret rooms, rooms that have disappeared, become abodes for an unforgettable past?” Because, he answers himself, the past is securely fixed in those spaces, the memories easy to summon.
法国哲学家加斯东·巴什拉（Gaston Bachelard）在《空间诗学》中优雅地诠释了我的困惑：“秘密房间，已经消失的房间，如何能成为令人难忘的过去的住所？”因为，他自己回答道，过去被牢牢地固定在那些空间里，记忆很容易唤起。
They return us, Bachelard says, to “the land of Motionless Childhood,” where we were protected from the wild things that lurked outside our bedroom window.
巴什拉德说，它们让我们回到了“一动不动的童年之地”，在那里我们受到保护，免受潜伏在卧室窗外的野生动物的侵害。
Mildred and Silas , oil on canvas by Cary Reeder.
米尔德丽德和塞拉斯，布面油画，卡里·里德 (Cary Reeder) 创作。
(Used by kind permission of Cary Reeder)
（经 Cary Reeder 许可使用）
“To be forcibly evicted from one’s home and neighborhood is to be stripped of a sheathing, which in its familiarity protects the human being from the bewilderments of the outside world.”
“被强行驱逐出自己的家和邻居就等于被剥夺了一层保护层，而这种保护层可以保护人们免受外界的困惑。”
While I rattled around in the gothic duplex, my friend Lauren was living in an idyllic 1920s home with two parents and several older sisters.
当我在哥特式复式公寓里闲逛时，我的朋友劳伦 (Lauren) 和两个父母以及几个姐姐住在一栋 20 年代田园诗般的家里。
She loved her home; she can still rattle off details of every room with photographic accuracy.
她爱她的家；她仍然可以像摄影一样准确地讲述每个房间的细节。
Her descriptions are intimate, possessive, and haunted by loneliness; soon all her sisters left home, and these particular memories are hers alone.
她的描述是亲密的、占有欲强的、孤独的。很快，她所有的姐妹都离开了家，这些特殊的回忆就只有她一个人了。
The finished basement, for example, with its built-in chrome bar and a clock with ladies in cocktail dresses painted at each hour.
例如，完工的地下室有内置的镀铬条和一个时钟，每个小时都会画上穿着鸡尾酒礼服的女士们的画。
An ideal place to take shelter when your dad is depressed and your mom is hurling her furious, sobbing disappointment at him like crockery.
当你的父亲情绪低落，而你的母亲像扔陶器一样向他扔出愤怒、哭泣的失望时，这是一个理想的庇护所。
When Lauren started high school—I knew none of this, we had lost touch by then—her father’s partner embezzled money, and her father went bankrupt.
当劳伦开始上高中时——我对此一无所知，那时我们已经失去了联系——她父亲的合伙人贪污了钱，她父亲破产了。
They struggled for several years, and when she was seventeen, they had to sell the house at a sharp loss.
他们挣扎了几年，在她十七岁的时候，他们不得不亏本卖掉房子。
She does not remember anyone ever sitting down with her to explain; somehow she just found out they were moving, soon .
她不记得有人坐下来和她解释过；不知怎的，她很快就发现他们要搬家了。
Between sobs, she wrote her name in the back of the closet and added the years she had lived there.
她抽泣着，在衣柜后面写下了自己的名字，并加上了她在那里生活的年月。
“If I dream of being in a house, it’s that house,” she says softly.
“如果我梦想住在一所房子里，那就是那所房子，”她轻声说道。
“Because in my mind, that’s home.
“因为在我心里，那就是家。
I had an idyllic childhood, and then it all fell apart.”
我有一个田园诗般的童年，但后来一切都崩溃了。”
They moved to a smaller place farther north, and Lauren had to spend her senior year at a new school where she knew no one.
他们搬到了更北边的一个较小的地方，劳伦不得不在一所她不认识的新学校度过她的高年级。
She had lost her parents along with the house: “They were tired ,” she says, and would never again be as available to her, emotionally.
她失去了父母和房子：“他们很累，”她说，并且在情感上再也无法为她提供帮助。
“I spent the next decade trying to find people who loved me.
“在接下来的十年里，我一直在努力寻找爱我的人。
And when I married and we had kids”—here her voice relaxes—“I made sure they would have that security and that sense of being loved and protected that we all deserve.”
当我结婚生子时”——此时她的声音放松了——“我确保他们拥有我们都应得的安全感以及被爱和被保护的感觉。”
Remembering Lauren’s cool finished basement, my mind flashes without warning to the unfinished basement at 88 Bellerive, the damp gray concrete ugly and spooky.
想起劳伦那栋酷炫的完工地下室，我的脑海里毫无征兆地闪现出贝勒里夫 88 号未完工的地下室，潮湿的灰色混凝土丑陋而阴森。
I loved and hated going down there.
我又爱又恨去那里。
My favorite place to explore was a little room tantalizingly called, for reasons no one could remember, the keep-out.
我最喜欢探索的地方是一个小房间，由于无人记得的原因，它被诱人地称为“禁区”。
Its rickety shelves were crowded with small useful objects, nails and screws and such, and just outside its door was an old steamer trunk filled with lace and buttons and scraps of silk or wool.
摇摇欲坠的架子上堆满了有用的小东西，钉子和螺丝之类的，门外有一个旧的蒸箱，里面装满了花边、纽扣和丝绸或羊毛的碎片。
Behind the clothesline, garment bags hung in rows, zipping shut the tea dances, lost loves, and dreams that once softened the hearts of these fussy, wrangling old people.
晾衣绳后面挂着一排排的衣服袋，拉链里藏着茶舞、失去的爱情和梦想，这些曾经软化了这些挑剔、争吵的老人的心。
I can still feel the garment bags swinging wildly when I pushed my way through them, rattling the mothballs.
当我推开服装袋时，我仍然能感觉到服装袋在剧烈摆动，使樟脑丸发出嘎嘎声。
“We shape our dwellings, and afterwards our dwellings shape us.”
“我们塑造我们的住所，然后我们的住所塑造我们。”
In The Poetics of Space, Bachelard insists that “we feel calmer and more confident when in the old home, in the house we were born in, than we do in the houses on streets where we have only lived as transients.” Maybe he does.
在《空间诗学》中，巴什拉坚持认为，“在老房子里，在我们出生的房子里，我们比在街道上的房子里感到更加平静和自信，因为我们只是过客。”也许他会。
Certainly my husband does.
我丈夫当然会。
But if you returned me to 88 Bellerive Acres, I would instantly revert to shy uncertainty.
但如果你让我回到贝勒里夫英亩 88 号，我会立即恢复到害羞的不确定状态。
Going home—for holidays, lockdown, divorce, illness—is an eager dread.
回家——假期、封锁、离婚、生病——是一种迫切的恐惧。
Yes, Mr. Frost, “home is the place where, when you have to go there,/ they have to take you in.” But to haul out another chestnut, you really can’t go home again.
是的，弗罗斯特先生，“家是一个地方，当你必须去那里时，/他们必须收留你。”但再捞个栗子，就真的不能再回家了。
Never the same river twice, Heraclitus warned.
赫拉克利特警告说，同一条河流决不能出现两次。
Not only will your home have changed, but the self that returns is not the self that left.
不仅你的家发生了变化，而且回来的自己也不再是离开的那个自己。
Nonetheless, home takes you back—in a doubled sense.
尽管如此，家还是带你回去的——在双重意义上。
You belong again, but with a catch: you are the age you were when you lived there.
你又属于这里了，但有一个问题：你还是住在那里时的年龄。
Professionalism vanishes, and you turn whiny, chafing for an independence and respect you forget you have already earned.
专业精神消失了，你变得爱发牢骚，渴望独立和尊重，却忘记了你已经赢得了。
You leave grumpy and sad, because going home was supposed to feel good.
你离开时脾气暴躁、悲伤，因为回家应该感觉很好。
Even our language enshrines what shelters us.
甚至我们的语言也铭刻着我们的庇护所。
Sure to succeed?
一定能成功吗？
You are home free.
你可以自由回家了。
Slide into home base, and you are safe.
滑入本垒，你就安全了。
Home keys are where your fingers rest.
Home 键是您手指休息的地方。
Homestyle is wholesome and comforting.
家居风格是健康和舒适的。
An open house is the consummate welcome.
开放参观是一种完美的欢迎。
“Make yourself at home” is an instruction to relax.
“让自己宾至如归”是放松的指令。
Good Fences , oil on canvas by Cary Reeder.
《好篱笆》，布面油画，卡里·里德 (Cary Reeder) 创作。
(Used by kind permission of Cary Reeder)
（经 Cary Reeder 许可使用）
At bedtime, my husband and I play thunderstorm music even in the draught of summer, exaggerating the coziness of being tucked in safe and dry.
就寝时间，我和丈夫会播放雷雨音乐，即使是在夏天的风声中，也夸大了安全干燥的舒适感。
“Everything comes alive when contradictions accumulate,” Bachelard notes, and this feels especially true inside a house.
巴什拉指出：“当矛盾累积时，一切都会变得活跃起来。”在房子里尤其如此。
Heavy dark draperies closing out winter snow so bright it makes you squint; a hearth against damp November chill; dim coolness on a glaring August day; a thick-carpet quiet as soon as the front door shuts out the chaos of traffic.
厚重的深色窗帘遮住了冬天的雪，明亮得让你眯起眼睛；抵御十一月潮湿寒冷的壁炉；八月的阳光明媚的日子里，有一丝凉意；前门一进门，厚厚的地毯就安静下来，隔绝了混乱的交通。
In Malicroix, French writer Henri Bosco conjures a vicious windstorm and shows us his house “holding firmly to the soil of the island.” It “yielded nothing to the storm.” On that lonely and frightening night, it became his mother.
在马利克鲁瓦，法国作家亨利·博斯科（Henri Bosco）召唤了一场恶毒的风暴，并向我们展示了他的房子“牢牢地固定在岛上的土壤上”。它“在风暴中毫无成果”。在那个孤独而可怕的夜晚，那个人变成了他的母亲。
Even our language enshrines what shelters us.
甚至我们的语言也铭刻着我们的庇护所。
Sure to succeed?
一定能成功吗？
You are home free.
你可以自由回家了。
Slide into home base, and you are safe.
滑入本垒，你就安全了。
Home keys are where your fingers rest.
Home 键是您手指休息的地方。
Homestyle is wholesome and comforting.
家居风格是健康和舒适的。
An open house is the consummate welcome.
开放参观是一种完美的欢迎。
Odd, to see one’s house as one’s mother.
奇怪的是，把自己的房子看作自己的母亲。
But just as home calls up thoughts of family, it can also substitute for family.
但正如家唤起人们对家人的思念一样，它也可以代替家人。
A locked door that opens only to you?
一扇锁着的门只为你打开？
Rooms that offer the consolations of food and sleep without demanding your credit card?
不需要信用卡即可提供舒适的食物和睡眠的客房？
A home offers its own limited version of unconditional love.
一个家提供了它自己的有限版本的无条件的爱。
Nobody ever continues that Robert Frost quote, but in the next line, he says he should have defined home as “ Something you somehow haven’t to deserve.”
没有人继续引用罗伯特·弗罗斯特的这句话，但在下一句话中，他说他应该将家定义为“你不值得拥有的东西”。
Home sweet home.
家，甜蜜的家。
The stuff of needlepoint plaques, and a sentiment that often hides the truth.
针绣牌匾的材质，以及常常掩盖真相的情感。
In Beloved, Toni Morrison named Sethe’s plantation Sweet Home, an irony so pure it stings.
在《宠儿》中，托妮·莫里森将塞丝的种植园命名为“甜蜜之家”，这种讽刺如此纯粹，令人刺痛。
When she runs north and moves into 124 Bluestone Road, her house is a symbol of arrival, freedom from slavery, pride.
当她向北搬进青石路 124 号时，她的房子象征着到来、摆脱奴役和自豪。
Yet “124 was spiteful,” “full of a baby’s venom,” haunted by her guilt.
然而，“124 充满了恶意”，“充满了婴儿的毒液”，她的愧疚感一直困扰着她。
The “castle doctrine” encodes a right recognized since the sixteenth century: if you are threatened within your own home, you need not retreat, as you are expected to do elsewhere, to avoid violence.
“城堡主义”编码了自十六世纪以来公认的一项权利：如果你在自己的家里受到威胁，你不需要像在其他地方那样撤退以避免暴力。
If need be, you may kill the intruder.
如果需要的话，你可以杀死入侵者。
In your home, you are king.
在你的家里，你就是国王。
Still, she refuses to move out of that house, even for the man she loves.
尽管如此，她仍然拒绝搬出那所房子，即使是为了她所爱的男人。
“This house he told her to leave as though a house was a little thing—a shirtwaist or a sewing basket you could walk off from or give away any old time.
“他让她离开这所房子，就好像房子是一件小东西一样——一件衬衫或一个缝纫篮，你可以从其中走开，或者放弃任何旧时光。
She who had never had but this one.”
她从来没有拥有过除了这个之外的一切。”
A home grounds and locates us; it carries our history.
家是我们的立足之地；它承载着我们的历史。
It contains “the sorts of space that may be grasped, that may be defended against adverse forces, the space we love,” writes Bachelard.
巴什拉德写道，它包含“可以抓住的空间，可以抵御不利力量的空间，这是我们所热爱的空间”。
And we do defend.
我们确实防守。
The “castle doctrine” encodes a right recognized since the sixteenth century: if you are threatened within your own home, you need not retreat, as you are expected to do elsewhere, to avoid violence.
“城堡主义”编码了自十六世纪以来公认的一项权利：如果你在自己的家里受到威胁，你不需要像在其他地方那样撤退以避免暴力。
If need be, you may kill the intruder.
如果需要的话，你可以杀死入侵者。
In your home, you are king.
在你的家里，你就是国王。
In the early years of this nation, as in many European countries, the only people who could vote were the tiny kings, men who owned property.
在这个国家的早期，就像在许多欧洲国家一样，唯一有投票权的人是小国王，即拥有财产的人。
This was thought to give them a greater stake in society and its governance.
人们认为这使他们在社会及其治理中拥有更大的利益。
Even now, owning a home anchors you in a community, gives you standing, and frees you from precarity.
即使是现在，拥有一套房子也能让你融入社区，让你有地位，让你摆脱不稳定的状态。
Yet for the first time in several generations, owning a home is now, for many, an unattainable dream.
然而，对于许多人来说，拥有一套房子是几代人以来第一次成为一个遥不可及的梦想。
A fact that is influencing our election, troubling our economy, and rocking our collective psyche.
这一事实正在影响我们的选举，困扰我们的经济，并动摇我们的集体心理。
In my nightmare, a tornado spins across town, picking up roofs and cars and gnarled apple trees and tossing them through the air.
在我的噩梦中，一场龙卷风席卷整个城镇，卷起屋顶、汽车和粗糙的苹果树，并将它们抛到空中。
I see houses wrecked and a panicked, wailing crowd, their safety, privacy, ease, and future plans yanked from them in a matter of seconds.
我看到房屋被毁，人群惊慌失措、哭泣，他们的安全、隐私、安逸和未来计划在几秒钟内就被夺走了。
I glance around wildly as I thread through this crowd, until finally, I spot Andrew, and my heart settles.
当我穿过人群时，我疯狂地环顾四周，直到最后我发现了安德鲁，我的心才平静下来。
He is home for me.
他是我的家。
And I hate that fact.
我讨厌这个事实。
I love my husband with every ounce of energy I possess, but if he is my home, what happens if he dies first?
我全心全意地爱我的丈夫，但如果他是我的家，如果他先死怎么办？
I am homeless, adrift forever?
我无家可归，永远漂泊？
Psychotherapist Esther Perel softly asks a young man who has lived in many places and is now in love, “Is she home for you?” His yes is eager, but I recoil.
心理治疗师埃丝特·佩雷尔轻声询问一位住过很多地方、现在正在恋爱的年轻人：“她是你的家吗？”他的回答很急切，但我却退缩了。
Another person will always be so different from you, unable to wrap around all your sharp edges and soft bulges and accommodate all your interests and moods.
另一个人总是与你如此不同，无法包容你所有的棱角和柔软的凸起，也无法包容你所有的兴趣和情绪。
I am home to myself.
我是我自己的家。
No person, no place, no building, no ideology takes that role for me.
没有人、没有地方、没有建筑、没有意识形态可以代替我扮演这个角色。
This is bravado, the noblest form of bullshit.
这是虚张声势，是最高尚的废话。
When I was a kid, my mom was home to me.
当我还是个孩子的时候，我妈妈就在我家里。
Now home is my husband, whether I like it or not, and whatever dog we have at the moment.
现在，无论我喜欢与否，家都是我的丈夫，还有我们现在养的狗。
Also a few dear friends, a few hangouts from grad school days, and oddly enough, London.
还有一些亲爱的朋友，研究生时代的一些聚会场所，奇怪的是，还有伦敦。
Which is not my favorite city, yet I felt instantly at home there.
这不是我最喜欢的城市，但我在那里立刻就有了宾至如归的感觉。
One cannot steer the homing instinct; it finds affinity wherever it chooses.
人无法驾驭归巢本能；无论它选择什么地方，它都会找到亲和力。
Often home is where the old people are—grandparents and porch-rocking neighbors who stayed put their whole lives, ballast to keep everyone else’s voyage stable.
通常，家就是老人所在的地方——祖父母和摇摇晃晃的邻居，他们一生都待在原处，是保持其他人航行稳定的压舱物。
Without people who stay there, a place is soulless.
没有人呆在那里，一个地方就没有灵魂。
Home orients every cell in our bodies.
家引导我们身体的每一个细胞。
Some species cannot survive even a few yards from their tiny ecosystem, their unique habitat.
有些物种甚至无法在距离其微小的生态系统、其独特的栖息地几码的地方生存。
I am more of a crow: as long as I have my creature comforts, I am willing to pick at any city’s cuisine.
我更像是一只乌鸦：只要有我的物质享受，我愿意去挑选任何一个城市的美食。
Do those of us who are adaptable and a little shallow—not in values, necessarily, but in how sentiment inscribes itself—suffer from our lack of rootedness?
我们这些适应能力强但有点肤浅的人——不一定是在价值观方面，而是在情感的表达方式方面——是否会因为缺乏根基而苦恼呢？
In grad school, I was briefly engaged to a guy who informed me that we would have to live by an ocean.
在研究生院时，我曾与一个人短暂订婚，他告诉我我们必须住在海边。
In fairness, he had grown up in the Philippines, surrounded by ocean.
公平地说，他是在菲律宾长大的，四面环海。
But I had no need to live by a soybean field.
但我没必要住在大豆田边。
One cannot steer the homing instinct; it finds affinity wherever it chooses.
人无法驾驭归巢本能；无论它选择什么地方，它都会找到亲和力。
At the time, I thought my boyfriend homesick and petulant; today, I know how tightly our brains braid place into identity.
当时我以为男朋友想家、脾气暴躁；今天，我知道我们的大脑对身份的认知有多紧密。
In harsh, bleak northern climes, there is less of the easygoing, leisurely public joy that you find on a balmy island; it is as though the personality absorbs the weather.
在严酷、荒凉的北方气候下，这里不像温暖的岛屿上那样随和、悠闲的公共欢乐；就好像个性会吸收天气一样。
In a rainforest, one’s sense of time blurs: the seasons are hard to tease apart, and you can only see your immediate surroundings.
在雨林中，人们的时间感变得模糊：季节很难区分，你只能看到周围的环境。
On the plains, you can watch the slow approach of a storm or an enemy and prepare yourself.
在平原上，您可以观察风暴或敌人的缓慢逼近，并做好准备。
I might be indifferent to the Midwest, but its flat green terrain, tall trees, river bluffs, and wild storms have shaped my sense of the world, maybe even humbled me.
我可能对中西部漠不关心，但它平坦的绿色地形、高大的树木、河流的悬崖和狂野的风暴塑造了我对世界的感觉，甚至可能让我感到谦卑。
If I had grown up either in Paris or on a rugged island, would I have more confidence?
如果我在巴黎或崎岖的岛屿上长大，我会更有信心吗？
A naturalist friend of mine, Dr. Susan Barker, is in love with not just her hometown but all of southwestern Illinois.
我的一位博物学家朋友苏珊·巴克博士不仅热爱她的家乡，而且热爱伊利诺伊州西南部的整个地区。
She knows the ancient history of its rock formations and rivers; she can name its trees and wildflowers and spot its shyest wild animals.
她了解这里的岩层和河流的古老历史；她可以说出那里的树木和野花的名字，并发现那里最害羞的野生动物。
Once she emailed me to describe seeing, as she drove home after a trip, “an amazing golden light like none I’d ever seen.
有一次，她给我发电子邮件，描述她旅行结束后开车回家时看到的“令人惊叹的金色光芒，是我从未见过的。
Never had green grass and winter wheat glowed so brightly.
绿草和冬麦从未如此明亮地发光。
The wheat was just tall enough, and the west wind blowing just fast enough, that the field was an ocean of green waves.”
麦子长得够高，西风吹得够快，田野里一片碧波荡漾。”
I might have found the same sight beautiful, but to her, that lushness was a welcome home.
我可能会发现同样的景色很美丽，但对她来说，那种郁郁葱葱的景色是一种欢迎回家的感觉。
Still, she is lonely.
尽管如此，她还是很孤独。
The intellectual companionship she sorely misses could be easily had in a big city, but she cannot, will not, pry herself from this land.
她非常怀念的知识陪伴在大城市很容易获得，但她不能也不会离开这片土地。
I am exasperated by her stubbornness, yet I envy her.
我对她的固执感到恼火，但同时又羡慕她。
I envy Andrew, too.
我也羡慕安德鲁。
Shadowplay , acrylic on board by Cary Reeder.
皮影戏，亚克力板，由卡里·里德 (Cary Reeder) 创作。
(Used by kind permission of Cary Reeder)
（经 Cary Reeder 许可使用）
A neighborhood is a cluster of homes, and it, too, imprints itself.
社区是一组房屋，它也有自己的印记。
Memories stick like Post-its to every block—daring exploits, eccentric people, gossipy scandals.
记忆就像便利贴一样贴在每个街区——大胆的事迹、古怪的人、八卦丑闻。
Homeboys bond by territory.
宅男们以领地为纽带。
Brits use shorthand for their homes: “Come over to mine.” We say, “This is my street”—how weird, to act like we own a street.
英国人用速记来形容他们的家：“过来我的。”我们说，“这是我的街道”——表现得好像我们拥有一条街道，这真是太奇怪了。
Yet merely by eating and sleeping there, we lay claim.
然而，仅仅通过在那里吃饭和睡觉，我们就声称拥有主权。
In Sula, Morrison writes about the Bottom as having been “a real place.” Then the neighborhood disintegrated—and was redeveloped as a golf course.
在《苏拉》中，莫里森将底层描述为“一个真实的地方”。然后这个街区分崩离析，并被重新开发为高尔夫球场。
“Now there weren’t any places left, just separate houses with separate televisions and separate telephones and less and less dropping by.” Even if those separate houses managed to be homey, they were cut off from the larger sense of home.
“现在已经没有地方了，只有独立的房子，有独立的电视和独立的电话，来访的人越来越少了。”即使这些独立的房子设法营造出温馨的氛围，它们也与更大的家的感觉隔绝了。
Lin-Manuel Miranda’s first musical, In the Heights, is all about home as neighborhood.
林-曼努尔·米兰达的第一部音乐剧《在高地》讲述的是家和邻里的故事。
Usnavi winds up (skip ahead, this is a spoiler) staying put, because the Heights have given him and other displaced people a place where they belong—both geographically and to one another.
乌斯纳维最终（跳过前面，这是一个剧透）留在原地，因为高地给了他和其他流离失所者一个属于他们的地方——无论是在地理上还是彼此之间。
Homeboys bond by territory.
宅男们以领地为纽带。
Brits use shorthand for their homes: “Come over to mine.” We say, “This is my street”—how weird, to act like we own a street.
英国人用速记来形容他们的家：“过来我的。”我们说，“这是我的街道”——表现得好像我们拥有一条街道，这真是太奇怪了。
Yet merely by eating and sleeping there, we lay claim.
然而，仅仅通过在那里吃饭和睡觉，我们就声称拥有主权。
His friend Nina says she used to think she lived at the top of the world, with everywhere else just a two-dimensional map.
他的朋友尼娜说，她曾经以为自己生活在世界之巅，其他地方都只是一张二维地图。
When she left for college, the matriarch of the neighborhood sent recipes: “I had to make sure you remembered the flavor of home.” And when Nina’s mother finds out her daughter has been struggling at Stanford, she yells, “When you have problems, you come home.
当她去上大学时，邻居的女族长寄来食谱：“我必须确保你记得家乡的味道。”当尼娜的母亲发现她的女儿在斯坦福大学表现不佳时，她大喊道：“当你遇到问题时，你就回家吧。
”
”
About another character, Usnavi observes, “I’m running to make it home, and home’s what Vanessa’s running away from.”
关于另一个角色，乌斯纳维观察到，“我跑着回家，而家就是瓦妮莎逃离的地方。”
Rear Window , acrylic on canvas by Cary Reeder.
《后窗》，布面丙烯，卡里·里德 (Cary Reeder) 创作。
(Used by kind permission of Cary Reeder)
（经 Cary Reeder 许可使用）
My happiest moments at 88 Bellerive were in the backyard.
我在 88 Bellerive 最快乐的时刻是在后院。
The blossomy pink crabapple tree, the eccentric and interesting tulip tree, the roses, the honeysuckle climbing over fences, the weigela and forsythia fringing the edges.
盛开的粉红色海棠树、古怪而有趣的郁金香树、玫瑰、爬过栅栏的金银花、边缘的威格拉和连翘。
The baskets of sandwiches, frozen Cokes, and Snickers bars that my Aunt Mary used to lower from the upstairs back porch.
玛丽阿姨过去常从楼上后门廊放下一篮篮三明治、冷冻可乐和士力架。
The hammock where I lay in the shade and read.
我躺在阴凉处读书的吊床。
In the yard I was free from my grandmother’s sharp tongue, so that was where I felt safe.
在院子里，我没有祖母尖刻的舌头，所以那是我感到安全的地方。
Now, Andrew and I live in a house that has been lived in and loved for more than a century.
现在，安德鲁和我住在一所已经居住和喜爱了一个多世纪的房子里。
The heights of kids who grew up here are marked on the doorjamb, and there is a big yard where I find myself planting what I remember from childhood.
门框上标有在这里长大的孩子的身高，还有一个大院子，我发现自己在那里种植了我小时候记得的东西。
When we travel, I am eager to return; I can already hear the click of the deadbolt sliding back; feel the little hip-check shove I have to give when Midwestern humidity swells and sticks the door.
旅行时，我渴望归来；我已经能听到锁舌滑回的咔哒声；当中西部的湿度膨胀并粘在门上时，感受一下我必须发出的小臀部检查推力。
With sweet relief, I climb into our bed, the left side of the mattress shaped to my body, and scrunch my pillow just so.
我如释重负地爬上床，床垫的左侧贴合了我的身体，然后将枕头揉成一团。
The next morning, we will eat our eggs at the sunny table, and I will write at my wooden desk, and in the evening, we will slouch on the billowy couch and, tired from travel, binge junk TV.
第二天早上，我们会在阳光明媚的餐桌上吃鸡蛋，我会在木桌上写字，晚上，我们会懒洋洋地躺在柔软的沙发上，疲惫不堪的旅行，狂看垃圾电视。
What makes a home homey?
是什么让家变得温馨？
I like a scatter of books and magazines, myself, and a pair of felted slippers halfway under the sofa.
我喜欢在沙发下面放一些书籍和杂志、我自己以及一双毛毡拖鞋。
A kitchen table big enough for friends who drop in.
厨房的桌子足够大，可以容纳朋友过来。
A fireplace.
一个壁炉。
A quiet nook where you can read or think undisturbed.
一个安静的角落，您可以不受干扰地阅读或思考。
A small, sunlit space in which to write.
一个阳光充足的小空间，可供写作。
A young friend who just bought his first house is facing its first minor, albeit pricey catastrophe.
一位刚买了第一套房子的年轻朋友正面临着第一次小而昂贵的灾难。
I start an email meant to be reassuring and find myself writing: “This will end, and then you’ll only have to worry about the yard and the gutters, the leaves, the drainage, the leaky basement, the leaky roof, the furnace filter, the window screens, the dusty ceiling fans….” The list bubbles on, my soothing email turning into a prophetic ribbing.
我开始写一封旨在让人放心的电子邮件，结果发现自己写道：“这一切都会结束，然后你只需要担心院子和排水沟、树叶、排水系统、漏水的地下室、漏水的屋顶、炉子过滤器、窗纱、布满灰尘的吊扇……”这份清单不断冒出，我那令人安慰的电子邮件变成了预言性的玩笑。
We pour crazy amounts of time, money, and energy into a house we have purchased.
我们为购买的房子投入了大量的时间、金钱和精力。
That is what makes it ours and makes us love it, the way a rescued pup you nurse back to health or confidence always owns a piece of your heart.
这就是让它成为我们的东西并让我们热爱它的原因，就像你照顾的一只获救的小狗恢复健康或自信一样，它永远拥有你的一颗心。
“I need to stop at the hardware store and get a power washer nozzle,” my husband announces one Saturday morning.
“我需要去五金店买一个电动清洗喷嘴，”我丈夫在一个周六早上宣布。
I perk up like a terrier eyeing Snausages.
我像一只盯着香肠的猎犬一样精神起来。
“Great!
“太好了！
The birds have iced the fence, and the patio needs—”I break off, realizing that he is talking about his beloved historic site, not our old house.
鸟儿已经结冰了栅栏，露台需要——”我停了下来，意识到他正在谈论他心爱的历史遗址，而不是我们的老房子。
Try as I might to convince him that our chores are historic preservation, they never spark the same joy.
尽管我尽力让他相信我们的家务事是为了保护历史，但它们从来没有激发出同样的快乐。
We pour crazy amounts of time, money, and energy into a house we have purchased.
我们为购买的房子投入了大量的时间、金钱和精力。
That is what makes it ours and makes us love it, the way a rescued pup you nurse back to health or confidence always owns a piece of your heart.
这就是让它成为我们的东西并让我们热爱它的原因，就像你照顾的一只获救的小狗恢复健康或自信一样，它永远拥有你的一颗心。
Private sphere, public sphere.
私人领域，公共领域。
For centuries, a woman’s place was inside the house, doing the house’s work.
几个世纪以来，女人的职责都是在房子里，做家务。
The result measured her skills, virtue, and selflessness.
结果衡量了她的技能、美德和无私。
For the “man of the house,” home was only sanctuary, never a proving ground.
对于“一家之主”来说，家只是庇护所，而不是试验场。
All this is cisgender and old school and supposedly over.
所有这一切都是顺性别和老派的，据说已经结束了。
Yet women my age still experience a secret thrill every time a male partner starts the dishwasher, changes the bedlinens or scrubs the floor unbidden.
然而，每当男性伴侣不请自来地启动洗碗机、更换床单或擦地板时，我这个年纪的女性仍然会感到一种秘密的兴奋。
“It’s foreplay,” therapists tell husbands playfully.
“这是前戏，”治疗师开玩笑地告诉丈夫们。
And though mine cleans far more thoroughly than I do (if company is coming), he lives here as carefree as a college kid, while I, cooking and tending and fussing, am the housemother.
虽然我的打扫得比我彻底得多（如果有客人来的话），但他住在这里就像一个大学生一样无忧无虑，而我负责做饭、照顾和忙乱，是家庭主妇。
When I close my eyes and think of past homes, I do not see brick or limestone.
当我闭上眼睛回想过去的家园时，我看不到砖块或石灰石。
I see the hissing, clanking steam radiator below the window of my dorm room, making it toasty to study perched on the deep sill.
我看到宿舍窗户下面有嘶嘶作响的蒸汽散热器，让坐在深深的窗台上学习的人感到温暖。
I see the cornflower blue kitchen counter of my first apartment; the Art Deco peach and black tile in the bathroom of our first house; the fireplace the previous owners put into our current kitchen.
我看到我第一间公寓的矢车菊蓝色厨房柜台；我们第一所房子的浴室里装饰艺术风格的桃色和黑色瓷砖；以前的主人在我们现在的厨房里放的壁炉。
“Home is an intimate place,” writes humanist geographer Yi-Fu Tuan.
“家是一个亲密的地方，”人文主义地理学家段义孚写道。
“Enchanted images of the past are evoked not so much by the entire building, which can only be seen, as by its components and furnishings, which can be touched and smelled as well.”
“过去的迷人图像并不是由整个建筑唤起的，因为整座建筑只能被看到，而是由它的组成部分和家具所唤起，它们也可以触摸和闻到。”
In his memoir, Who Am I?, Tuan describes his “imitation Tiffany lamps” and alphabetized CDs.
在他的回忆录《我是谁？》中，Tuan 描述了他的“仿蒂凡尼灯”和按字母顺序排列的 CD。
“How calm and sweetly reassuring they are!
“他们是多么平静，多么令人安心啊！
They seem to say, ‘We will always be here for you.’ And that’s one thing that can be said about the house and its material objects.
他们似乎在说：“我们将永远在你身边。”这是关于房子及其物质对象的一件事。
They remain in place, they are stable.
他们留在原地，他们很稳定。
They are an anchorage in the midst of life’s unceasing change.”
它们是生活不断变化中的一个锚定点。”
Patina , oil on canvas by Cary Reeder.
铜绿，布面油画，卡里·里德 (Cary Reeder) 创作。
(Used by kind permission of Cary Reeder)
（经 Cary Reeder 许可使用）
Traveling the world to interview women who grow and sell coffee, Jen Roberts has set up temporary living quarters nearly 100 times, unpacking eucalyptus and musk tea light candles from Target, photos of her grown kids, her coffee scale and grinder, a corkscrew, her journal, a tiny speaker for music.
Jen Roberts 环游世界，采访种植和销售咖啡的女性，她搭建了近 100 次临时住所，拆开塔吉特 (Target) 的桉树和麝香茶蜡烛、她成年孩子的照片、她的咖啡秤和研磨机、一个开瓶器、她的日记、一个小型音乐扬声器。
Her props and comforts are homey, but they are not a home.
她的道具和舒适感很温馨，但它们不是家。
After three years of wandering, she is tired of adventure and ready to settle—not “back home” but in Mexico City.
经过三年的漂泊，她厌倦了冒险，准备定居——不是“回家”，而是在墨西哥城。
She wants a place for her books and art, a big table where people can come together and eat, a kitchen where she can store her favorite spices and utensils.
她想要一个放置书籍和艺术品的地方，一张可以让人们聚在一起吃饭的大桌子，一个可以存放她最喜欢的香料和餐具的厨房。
On the road, she was always piecing things together, figuring out customs and routines, sourcing or making do.
在路上，她总是把事情拼凑起来，弄清楚习俗和惯例，采购或凑合。
Now she can pursue hobbies, and friends will know where to find her, and her life will have a locus and an anchor.
现在她可以追求自己的爱好了，朋友们也会知道去哪里找到她，她的生活也会有一个轨迹和一个锚点。
“To be rooted is perhaps the most important and least recognized need of the human soul.”
“扎根也许是人类灵魂最重要也是最不为人所知的需求。”
Call her Eva, a pseudonym she cleverly chose to echo eviction.
就叫她伊娃吧，她巧妙地选择了这个化名来呼应驱逐。
A trauma she is still unraveling.
她的创伤至今仍未解开。
In 2009, she had saved enough to buy a narrow, three-story Victorian house.
2009年，她攒够了钱买了一栋狭窄的三层维多利亚式房子。
It felt especially right because it was built in the 1840s, when her family came here from Germany.
感觉特别合适，因为它建于 1840 年代，当时她的家人从德国来到这里。
Eager to make her new home warm and inviting, Eva pored over Architectural Digest and scoured Goodwill, creating a happy mix of bright modern and family heirlooms.
伊娃渴望让她的新家变得温暖而诱人，她仔细研究了《建筑文摘》并搜索了 Goodwill，创造了明亮的现代和家庭传家宝的快乐组合。
She knew she had succeeded when a friend visited from France and exclaimed, “It feels like home to me.”
当一位朋友从法国来访时，她知道自己已经成功了，并惊叹道：“这对我来说就像家一样。”
Eva was single, and her parents were gone.
伊娃是单身，她的父母都去世了。
The house gave her a place where she knew she belonged, a place where she could be vulnerable and entirely herself.
房子给了她一个她知道自己属于的地方，一个她可以变得脆弱、完全做自己的地方。
When some everyday crisis knocked her off balance, she now had a soft place to land.
当一些日常危机让她失去平衡时，她现在有了一个柔软的落脚点。
But the crises intensified.
但危机却愈演愈烈。
In the space of two days, she was laid off from a newspaper job and received a cancer diagnosis.
两天之内，她被报纸工作解雇，并被诊断出患有癌症。
She had refused Cobra, which she says “earned its name” by costing $900 a month.
她拒绝了 Cobra，她说 Cobra 因每月 900 美元而“名声在外”。
She wound up needing four surgeries to beat the cancer.
她最终需要进行四次手术才能战胜癌症。
And in the downturn after the 2008 recession, finding another job proved impossible.
在 2008 年经济衰退后的低迷时期，找到另一份工作被证明是不可能的。
“Try McDonalds,” friends urged.
“试试麦当劳，”朋友们敦促道。
“Try Starbucks.” Places like that did not want to hire someone they figured would leave soon, so Eva wound up scrubbing toilets and walking dogs.
“试试星巴克。”像这样的地方不想雇用他们认为很快就会离开的人，所以伊娃最终只能擦洗厕所和遛狗。
Her savings drained away.
她的积蓄花光了。
The day before Thanksgiving 2013, she says, the sheriff, city workers, “and the flying monkeys they hired to break down my back door” came and moved every carefully chosen, sentimental possession out to the street.
她说，2013 年感恩节的前一天，治安官、城市工作人员和“他们雇来的飞猴来拆开我的后门”，把每一件精心挑选的、感伤的财产都搬到了街上。
A home not only contains, it welcomes.
家不仅包含，而且欢迎。
That is hospitality—rooted in “hospital , ” a place where you heal.
这就是热情好客——植根于“医院”，一个让你治愈的地方。
In the eleven years since, Eva has moved again and again—first to what she dubbed “a crack hotel” near the airport, then to an apartment whose landlord turned out to be behind in his mortgage payments, then to a place that was sold and remodeled, nearly doubling the rent.
此后的十一年里，伊娃一次又一次地搬家——先是搬到了机场附近她所说的“一家破烂酒店”，然后搬到了一套公寓，而房东却拖欠了抵押贷款，然后又搬到了一个被出售和改造的地方，租金几乎翻了一番。
During the pandemic, she says, “Everybody else was all ‘Ooohh, sourdough’ and ‘It’s wine o’clock!’ and I was like, ‘What shoe is going to drop next?’”
她说，在疫情期间，“其他人都在说‘哦，酸面团’和‘酒到了！’而我就想，‘接下来会掉什么鞋？’”
Now she is living in a rental that feels “half a notch up from either student housing or a storage unit,” and because it is scheduled for renovation and a rent hike, she has to move yet again.
现在，她住在一套出租屋里，感觉“比学生宿舍或储藏室高出一半”，而且由于计划进行翻修和租金上涨，她不得不再次搬家。
When I ask how all this loss of home has affected her, she says, “I worry that part of me is broken.
当我问失去家园对她有何影响时，她说：“我担心我的一部分已经破碎了。
There’s this untethering that happens: my home is completely, 100 percent in my head and my heart.
发生了这种不受束缚的情况：我的家完全、100%在我的头脑和心里。
People say things like, ‘You shouldn’t be attached to physical things anyway.’ But you look around and it’s all so fleeting—there’s no permanence, and I feel like I don’t fit in anywhere.
人们会说，“无论如何，你都不应该执着于物质事物。”但你环顾四周，一切都是如此转瞬即逝——没有永恒，我觉得我不适合任何地方。
The moment I let myself start to feel comfortable someplace, I get this gnawing reminder that it’s all going to be ripped away.”
当我让自己开始在某个地方感到舒服的那一刻，我就得到了这个痛苦的提醒：一切都将被剥夺。”
What she misses most is not three stories of Victorian charm, but the ability to throw a dinner party.
她最怀念的不是三个维多利亚时代魅力的故事，而是举办晚宴的能力。
“I used to always serve two desserts,” she tells me, wistful.
“我以前总是提供两份甜点，”她满怀渴望地告诉我。
“Because it’s extra .
“因为这是额外的。
I want my guests to feel taken care of.” A home not only contains, it welcomes.
我希望我的客人感到受到照顾。”家不仅包含，而且欢迎。
That is hospitality—rooted in “hospital , ” a place where you heal.
这就是热情好客——植根于“医院”，一个让你治愈的地方。
Would the world be healed if everyone could live in the home of their dreams?
如果每个人都能住上自己梦想的家，世界会被治愈吗？
Some would still choose what looks to the rest of us like no home at all.
有些人仍然会选择在我们其他人看来根本没有家的地方。
The polite new term is “unhoused,” which strikes me wrong.
礼貌的新术语是“无家可归”，这让我觉得错误。
It sounds like a policy failure, and no doubt that is accurate.
这听起来像是政策失败，毫无疑问这是准确的。
But a house is not a home, and not wanting a house is a fair choice.
但房子不是家，不想要房子是一个公平的选择。
For some, home is the open air and night sky, uncomfortable but free.
对于一些人来说，家就是露天和夜空，不舒服但自由。
No address, no expectations, no walls closing in.
没有地址，没有期望，没有围墙。
Is that a clinical symptom or leftover hurt from a series of failures?
这是临床症状还是一系列失败留下的伤害？
Maybe both.
也许两者都有。
But to force someone to be conventionally housed?
但强迫某人按照惯例安置？
I would rather make it safe for them to live as they like.
我宁愿让他们安全地按照自己喜欢的方式生活。
There have always been nomads and travelers.
一直以来都有游牧民族和旅行者。
The difference is, they had the support of their tribe.
不同的是，他们有部落的支持。
Whispers , acrylic on canvas by Cary Reeder.
《耳语》，布面丙烯，卡里·里德 (Cary Reeder) 创作。
(Used by kind permission of Cary Reeder)
（经 Cary Reeder 许可使用）
“Home is created by love,” Jerry Garrett remarks.
“家是由爱创造的，”杰瑞·加勒特说道。
This is true but vague.
这是事实，但含糊不清。
What he says next, though, makes me reach for a pen: “Home has something to do with accepting what you have.”
然而，他接下来说的话让我伸手拿起笔：“家与接受你所拥有的东西有关。”
Reach that acceptance, and your home relaxes.
达到这种接受程度，你的家就会放松下来。
It looks lived-in; there is an ease to it, a refusal to try for perfection.
它看起来像是有人居住的；有一种轻松的感觉，拒绝追求完美。
A home should be reasonably tidy but not sterile; its materials should forgive ink stains, juicy tomatoes, crayon on the walls, the scrabble of a dog tearing down the hallway.
家应该相当整洁，但不能毫无生气；它的材料应该能够容忍墨水污渍、多汁的西红柿、墙上的蜡笔、狗在走廊上撕扯的乱七八糟的声音。
You should be able to live exactly as you like there—grow a tree in the living room if you want, or play ping-pong in the spare bedroom.
你应该能够按照自己喜欢的方式生活——如果你愿意的话，可以在客厅里种一棵树，或者在空余的卧室里打乒乓球。
People who live in showhouses, or who are always gnawing on dreams of a bigger, fancier, more luxurious home …
住在样板间的人们，或者总是梦想着拥有一个更大、更漂亮、更豪华的家的人……
do not yet have a home.
还没有家。
Nor do immigrants and refugees who resist the new language and spend their time with other expats, eating the food of their former homeland, reading its news, and listening to its music.
那些抵制新语言、与其他侨民共度时光、吃故乡的食物、读故乡的新闻、听故乡的音乐的移民和难民也不会这样做。
But who can blame them?
但谁能责怪他们呢？
Your home should be the place where you never feel judged, where you can cry or retch or fart or scream in orgasm.
你的家应该是一个你永远不会感到被评判的地方，在那里你可以在高潮中哭泣、干呕、放屁或尖叫。
Home is where you get cooked for and cared for and put back together again.
家是你被烹饪、被照顾并重新组合在一起的地方。
Except trad wives, who have to go to a spa.
除了必须去水疗中心的传统妻子。
In Waterloo, the little town in southwestern Illinois where we live, people who were born there are said to be “from home.” I quickly learned to apologize for confusing Porta Westfalica with Homecoming or the Pumpkin Fest with the Stubbornfest by blurting, “I’m not from home.”
在我们居住的伊利诺伊州西南部小镇滑铁卢，出生在那里的人据说是“家乡人”。我很快就学会了道歉，因为我脱口而出：“我不在家。”
In the modern blur of mobility, Waterloo’s cultural cohesion impresses me.
在现代模糊的流动性中，滑铁卢的文化凝聚力给我留下了深刻的印象。
So many residents are of German ancestry, and so many families go back five or six generations, that “home” means more than it does in the city.
如此多的居民有德国血统，如此多的家庭可以追溯到五六代，“家”的意义比在城市里更重要。
Or the suburbs, where “home” is a ranch or a bungalow, something to be renovated, upgraded, sold, or bought.
或者在郊区，“家”是牧场或平房，是需要翻新、升级、出售或购买的东西。
The phrase “global citizen” appeals to me.
“全球公民”这个词很吸引我。
I have made all my moves on a single Midwestern game board, each place suggesting a slightly different way of living or a tweaked set of priorities, never anything more radical or illuminating.
我所有的行动都是在一个中西部游戏板上进行的，每个地方都暗示着一种略有不同的生活方式或一组经过调整的优先事项，从来没有比这更激进或更具启发性的了。
Yet I have never felt loyal to this region.
但我从未对这个地区感到忠诚。
Americans enjoy their homes but seldom forget they are also investments—and status symbols.
美国人享受自己的家园，但很少忘记它们也是投资和地位的象征。
The Roma find home in a piece of music, a suitcase of treasures, or those with whom they travel.
罗姆人在一首音乐、一箱珍宝或与他们一起旅行的人中找到了家。
For the Osage, home is tied to the surrounding nature and extends across ancestral land.
对于奥塞奇人来说，家与周围的自然环境紧密相连，并延伸到祖传的土地上。
In Latin America, home has immediacy as a place of enjoyment, and private spaces spill into public.
在拉丁美洲，家是一种即时的享受场所，私人空间延伸到公共空间。
For Buddhists, home is a temporary dwelling and gathering place; for Britain’s landed gentry, home is a museum of heirlooms, rituals, customs, and outdated etiquette, all of it passed down for generations.
对于佛教徒来说，家是暂时的居所、聚会的地方；对于英国的地主绅士来说，家是一座博物馆，里面有传家宝、仪式、习俗和过时的礼节，所有这些都是代代相传的。
And for global citizens or third culture kids, home is a state of mind.
对于全球公民或第三文化的孩子来说，家是一种心态。
The phrase “global citizen” appeals to me.
“全球公民”这个词很吸引我。
I have made all my moves on a single Midwestern game board, each place suggesting a slightly different way of living or a tweaked set of priorities, never anything more radical or illuminating.
我所有的行动都是在一个中西部游戏板上进行的，每个地方都暗示着一种略有不同的生活方式或一组经过调整的优先事项，从来没有比这更激进或更具启发性的了。
Yet I have never felt loyal to this region.
但我从未对这个地区感到忠诚。
I fancy myself rootless—yet the isotopes of my childhood home are locked inside the enamel of my teeth.
我幻想自己没有根，但我童年故乡的同位素却被锁在我的牙釉质里。
A forensic scientist could take samples from my shoes and tell me how far I live from the coastline and what sort of lead laces the soil beneath my house.
法医科学家可以从我的鞋子中取样，并告诉我我住的地方离海岸线有多远，以及我房子下面的土壤中含有哪种铅。
Like snails, we carry our homes with us.
就像蜗牛一样，我们带着我们的家。
I had the dream twice, years apart, and if I could lure it back, I would.
我做了两次这个梦，相隔几年，如果我能把它引回来，我会的。
In it, I discover that our house has another wing we never knew existed.
在其中，我发现我们的房子还有另一个我们从未知道存在的侧翼。
I walk through, thrilled by all the extra rooms.
我走过去，对所有额外的房间感到兴奋。
What am I trying to tell myself?
我想告诉自己什么？
“A home is a home,” observes Julie Beck, “because it blurs the line between the self and the surroundings.” If you dream about a house, it is assumed that you are dreaming about your psyche.
“家就是家，”朱莉·贝克评论道，“因为它模糊了自我与周围环境之间的界限。”如果你梦见房子，那么就假设你正在梦见你的心灵。
The schema is perfectly Freudian: not only do you have an exterior façade concealing an interior reality, but you have the subconscious, subterranean, often scary basement where unspeakable things are hidden; the rational first floor open to visitors; the upstairs for sleeping and dreaming and prayer and sex; the attic with its cloth-draped mysteries and foglike swirls of dust, more spooky than sinister, its packed-away memories only in need of a good airing.
这个图式完全是弗洛伊德式的：你不仅有一个隐藏内部现实的外立面，而且还有一个潜意识的、地下的、常常令人恐惧的地下室，里面隐藏着无法形容的东西；理性的一楼向游客开放；楼上是睡觉、做梦、祈祷和做爱的地方；阁楼上布满了神秘色彩，雾气般的尘埃漩涡，与其说是险恶，不如说是阴森恐怖，它的记忆只需要好好地晾晒一下。
Our homes hold our energy, and our ghosts.
我们的家承载着我们的能量和我们的灵魂。
This is why we always visit the home of some beloved writer, artist, president, or genius.
这就是为什么我们总是拜访一些受人喜爱的作家、艺术家、总统或天才的家。
Not the school that laid a solid foundation for their talent, not the studio or office where they did their most celebrated work.
不是为他们的才华奠定坚实基础的学校，也不是他们完成最著名作品的工作室或办公室。
Their home.
他们的家。
The place they brushed their teeth and showered and ate cereal and made love.
他们在那里刷牙、洗澡、吃麦片、做爱。
If you dream about a house, it is assumed that you are dreaming about your psyche.
如果你梦见房子，那么就假设你正在梦见你的心灵。
The schema is perfectly Freudian: not only do you have an exterior façade concealing an interior reality, but you have the subconscious, subterranean, often scary basement where unspeakable things are hidden.
这个图式完全是弗洛伊德式的：你不仅有一个隐藏内部现实的外立面，而且还有一个潜意识的、地下的、常常令人恐惧的地下室，里面隐藏着无法形容的东西。
And while it is a fine thing to hang a picture of your first home close to your heart, it is also a fine thing to live in a home you have made warmer and happier than the one where you began.
虽然将你的第一个家的照片挂在心里是一件好事，但生活在一个你让自己比你开始的家更温暖、更幸福的家里也是一件好事。
The Common Reader , a publication of Washington University in St. Louis, offers the best in reviews, articles and creative non-fiction engaging the essential debates and issues of our time.
《Common Reader》是圣路易斯华盛顿大学的一份出版物，提供有关我们这个时代的基本辩论和问题的最佳评论、文章和创意非小说类作品。
The Common Reader goes to Chicago to check in with the Democratic Party.
普通读者前往芝加哥向民主党汇报情况。