I’ve been raised with a traditional idea of social hosting. These ideas, rooted in land ownership (and some in christianity), have weighed down on me far too long.
I’ve never been told this explicitly, but it has always been implied that a host:
… is ultimate, all-encompassing.
… will try to anticipate the guest’s needs.
… knows and prepares everything that the guests like to eat.
… provides for the guest, even if it is beyond their means.
… cleans the whole house top to bottom, no excuses.
… encourages the guests to stay way longer than they (host, guest) would like to.
… nudges the guests to eat and drink, nudges the quest to consume.
… insists that the guests wear slippers after taking off their shoes off.
… talks to the guest, even when they are feeling the heaviness of their eyelids signaling sleepiness.
… would give their bed to the guest if they needed to stay over.
… doesn’t want the guest to help out with setting up the table, cooking, doing the dishes, cleaning.
… will greet the guests with the table already ready. Everything set—nothing from the backstage exposed—no messiness.
… would walk the guest to the bus, train station, airport and equally greet them on either of these locations and walk them to their home.
… welcomes the guest into a home, not a house.
… is the one that is dedicated to ‘running or leading’ a home.
Time and time again, I have found myself not being able to live up to the standards. In search of alternatives that have room for the chronically ill, I’ve written this essay.
