On Making a Queer Home in Muncie, Indiana in 2024
“Making a queerer home means recognizing the material, psychological, and cultural meanings embedded in the everyday practice of homemaking—neither to deny nor reify its power and primacy, but to question and expand its limits.”
~Steven Vider, The Queerness of Home, p. 227-228*.
In my drawer, there’s a t-shirt with the outline of the state of Indiana and the word “Home” in the middle. When I first lived here I wanted to buy local, so I have a fair amount of local t-shirts: one with the “u” in Muncie as a heart that also looks like a map from Muncie Map Co. (RIP), one with a rainbow that says “Pawnee,” referencing the connection between Muncie and the fictional town in “Parks and Rec,” one that says “Queer” for the Queer Chocolatier (also RIP). But these days I hesitate to pull any of them out of the drawer.
My wife and I bought this house just over two years ago. Something about this space immediately felt like home to me. When my friend C, who I’ve known for almost 25 years, comes to visit from New York she notes that this house is certainly “my style.” And my OG Bestie of 35 years says that I seem at home here, although she’s only seen the space on Zoom.
Do you believe in love at first site? I don’t know that it’s a thing with humans: human love feels more complex than that allows for. But this house, well, it was love at first site for me. We had been looking to buy a house and found out a colleague was about to put his on the market. The minute we opened the door, I yearned for this to be my space. I tried to tamp down the immediate gut reaction as I hadn’t yet left the entryway, but it only grew as we toured the house.?
The outside is nothing much to look at—brown with some brick, some siding, a two-door garage. But the entryway looks down the sunken living room with high ceilings, the view ending at the fireplace and mantle.?
Is the sunken living room reminiscent for me of my childhood where I used always used to sit on the one little blue carpeted stair watching the TV? At four, I’d fall asleep there watching Star Trek; at 14 I’d somehow lay sideways there and practice my flute.?
These stairs are slick, clean laminate in a warm wood color instead of carpet. I love how the living room divides our house into what feels like two different wings. If you go left, you have the kitchen the dining room, the sunroom, and my wife’s office. These rooms flow together. If you go right, there’s a hallway to more of a bedroom wing with a huge, amazing primary bedroom and bath, a guest room, a guest bath, and my office. The main bath off the bedroom sports a fancy tub and separate shower, and the bedroom itself is massive enough to almost dwarf our king-sized bed.?
The house orients to the backyard. There are hardly any windows in the front, but many in the back, and a sliding door leads to a nice deck. We got a new patio last year, along with some landscaping and a raised garden bed. The Japanese maple is our favorite, as are cool nights around our firepit, talking and roasting marshmallows. There’s a not-too-bad view of the stars for being in a place where the neighbors like their lights. Neighbors are my main annoyance from the security light that shines in our bedroom window, now blocked by blackout blinds and curtains, to the doggo that paces and barks behind us because he needs more love. The fence makes the yard seem contained as a part of our space, but every fence has space between slats.??
I love wide-open spaces. I’m a born and bred Mid-westerner who grew up on the outskirts of a city, but not in the suburbs. We had an acre across from a cornfield. I moved out of the region in my 20s and returned when I came to Muncie 13 years ago. I remember driving here; gazing out across the farmland to the horizon along I-35 felt like coming home. My wife is not a Midwesterner, though she’s learned to say “ope,” and “offda,” if not “pop.” She longs for the forests and the mountains; the flatness feels drab and out of place. Objectively, I agree that forests and mountains are amazing, but they don’t feel like home.
What does it mean to make a place home? Have we made Indiana home the way we’ve made this house our home? Is that even possible right now?
A queer friend stops by. With no further context, she asks, “You thinking, stay or go?” We know exactly what she’s asking, though we don’t have a good answer.?
On the Fourth of July, our progressive friends come to hang out to avoid their block party. It makes me smile that my friend J. arrives waving a Progress Pride Flag, a Puerto Rico flag, and a Canadian flag. Meanwhile, the streets of our neighborhood are lined with the stars and stripes. There is some kind of neighborhood parade over the weekend. It feels like our neighborhood, mirrors the division of the nation. A local Democrat who was recently elected by a small margin lives kitty-corner from a neighbor with a cardboard cutout of Trump looking over his fence like Wilson in Home Improvement.
We own a pride flag, but it sits in the closet like my t-shirts. Last Halloween we left some treats on the porch with a “take one” sign, too afraid of “groomer” accusations. Last week when buying veggies at the farmer’s market, a vendor misgenders my wife. This week, a woman gets angry at me for wearing a mask at Fresh Thyme.
Physical safety is a concern, of course, but so far we’ve been fine there. I more often think about psychological safety. After 10 years we’ve built the psychological safety together that makes our home so precious. Creating this takes regular practice as much as cleaning the kitchen: rituals of talk and habits of connection built over time. I want to carry this safety with me everywhere I go and provide it for others, but I don’t feel it. It’s easier to stay at home.?
Home feels like a bubble delicately blown that could pop if the wind catches it just so.
Or maybe my home is one of those giant bubble balls that kids can get inside rolling across a park. Something I carry with me, protecting me from the world. Or is it more of a Katamari ball collecting all the detritus of the world around me as it goes. I collect it all and bring the world back to my safe space to sift through the debris and find my core again.