Welcome. As a guest, I invite you to get comfortable and relax. Make yourself at home. Here’s the catch: I’m not welcoming you into my house, or any other space, really. I’m welcoming you to yours, to your body, to your world.

When we are born, we become guests to consciousness and to the Earth. We are here as sentient beings temporarily and for as long as we’re able. Often when we are guests, there is a sense of impermanence that is at least partially uncomfortable. Often, we don’t fully intend to sink into where we’re at because we know we are leaving, eventually. Think of it like a hotel: how long do you have to stay before you fully unpack your belongings? If we know death is coming, how deeply do we lean into life before considering its end?

I’ve struggled with this in a very literal sense. Much of my early adulthood involved moving from place to place. After several moves, it became easier for me to feel less attached and less inclined to fully immerse myself in the space, let alone make it home-like. I wouldn’t fully unpack; I was always, at least in part, ready to move again.

So if we are guests even to life, we might feel that we cannot become fully at home in our lives; there is no use, you might say, life is so short after all. We may be adverse to the call for customization, for decorating, for sinking in. We may say that death is inevitable, and there is no need to get comfortable or to stretch into ourselves entirely. 

When I was 15 or so, I was reminded of an old family opinion about tattoos. It was something about how we should aim to return to God the way he brought us to life. It’s silly, really, since I’m not dying as a 6lb baby any time soon. But the logic was essentially to avoid tattoos as they mark God’s creation in a way that disrespects our invention; bumper sticker on a Bentley type thought process, I guess. I got a tattoo at 16 anyway, thanks to my parents not giving a shit about the rule. I imagine what it would be like if I surrendered the call to be more myself because I will someday not be. I don’t want to avoid decorating my body just because it won’t be mine forever.

When we make ourselves at home, we begin the process of curating. We hang a painting or two, rearrange the furniture. We bring out blankets, and we find ways to become more deeply comfortable in our worlds. It is the difference between a staged house and one which is lived in. It is customized.

To make ourselves at home, we must accept that our time here is just as valuable as our time elsewhere. There is a metaphor that comes to mind. We may descend into nihilism when we realize that the table in front of us is insignificant in the context of the ever-expanding universe and of all time. This table is not going to exist in 10,000 years, and it was not even here 10,000 years ago. We can say, in the grand scheme, that it does not matter, but we would be wrong. The table matters because it is here right now, in this time. The table is here with us. So we set the table and we dine at it.

We set the table not because the table is a practical use of wood or other materials and therefore must be adorned, but because of the significance of our rituals of eating and otherwise. We set the table because it belongs to us in the same way that this moment does. We enrich our experiences despite their fleetingness. I set the table knowing the dishes will soon need to be washed and that the table will be reset again tomorrow.

We have loads of ways in which we curate our experiences, we arrange the world and our spaces, and we decorate our bodies. We find many ways to become comfortable while we walk the Earth. We embellish our houses to mark our inhabitance. We make ourselves at home. 

So when I welcome you as a guest and I say get comfortable, I am really asking you to be so deeply embedded in the here and now that we ornament ourselves and our lives to mark their significance. We self-express. We paint the walls. We need not be so concerned with the passage of time that we forget the significance of finding depth and comfort in the fleeting present. We should use our perfumes as we have them, we could even dye our hair. 

I am not saying to bend to the whim of all of our creative impulses, but I am saying that life’s briefness is no feat for the satisfaction of this moment’s expression. I am made more welcome in my life by allowing myself to utilize my guesthood as much as I can. I become more real to myself when I get a tattoo or I wear makeup or when I put on my favourite shirt. In doing so, I allow myself to live so deeply and so meaningfully that the cessation of my occupancy is really no greater concern than the cessation of today. I will move to the next stage and begin the process over again. I will redecorate. I will continue to align with the inspirations of the day.

So make yourself at home, become more concerned with the full breadth of the comfort only found allowing yourself to spread and express from every corner of your home and of your body. Dress the world you are given today in the colours and symbols that bring meaning to your life. Decorate your room, your body, your objects and home. Paint the walls, paint your nails. It is yours for now and make it known, make it full and human through it’s relationship to you. This life is short but it is ours. It is yours for now.