Despite it being integral in our culture, we are not really conscious of our need to have a dwelling in order to have agency. This notion, I feel, is both an ancient one and a new one. It appeals to our instinct to have a safe place to stay, free from rivals or enemies who may jeopardize resources; it is a new notion due to changing ideas of what constitutes a home and an abundance of material objects.

But it’s not far off the mark. In America, as well as in other Western countries, it’s seen as a sign of independence when a young adult leaves their parents’ home for their own dwelling. In fact, it’s often touted as a necessary milestone to becoming a “real” adult–along with working, driving, and completing higher education. Even if the dwelling is not owned by its resident, having a space of one’s own is seen as crucial. College freshmen tend to feel an incredible freedom when moving into their dorms for the first time–despite the presence of RAs who essentially take up the role of parents.

But I’d never given much thought to how ownership plays a role in how much agency a home provides. Numerous pieces of media treat this theme, including Lorraine Hansberry’s A Raisin in the Sun and Sandra Cisneros’s The House on Mango Street. Families who cannot own their home tend to feel as though they are inferior to those who do; Miller defines this cultural stigma in his book Stuff. Within The House on Mango Street, the protagonist, Esperanza, has recently moved into her family’s first owned home. She dreams of the ideal suburban home, but the house that they’ve purchased is a bit run down. Over the course of the story, Esperanza seeks independence and autonomy, which she repeatedly defines to herself as owning this ideal home; even at the end, when her definition of “home” has started to change, she still craves this ideal.

It is possible to achieve true agency without owning what our culture believes is the “true” home? Does it have a lasting, long-term psychological impact? Miller’s examination of the Trinidadians seems to draw this conclusion. Or is the truly damaging aspect the enculturation which makes us believe these things are necessary for survival?

Perhaps there is no real answer. That, or the answer is too subconscious or insidious to put into words. I can, however, relate to what Miller writes about; as a woman in her 20s still living with her parents, I feel that without my own dwelling I am not quite “grown up”. Moreover, my friends and I all have dream homes which we feel will grant us happiness–even though theoretically it should be the people in the homes that give us this happiness. Miller speaks to an idea also mentioned in The Comfort of Things; our relationships to things (including, in this case, homes) deepens and is in fact necessary to have relationships with other people.