When I was a preschooler growing up in New York City, I would walk down Museum Mile’s cobblestone sidewalk with my mom and dad to visit The Met. I could roam the museum for hours: muffled chatter filling cavernous rooms warmed with artifacts and paintings hanging on whitewashed walls underneath yellow bulbs.

The metal double doors click open. I step into 116B Lewisohn Hall, down the main aisle, where rows of desks are housed in an entirely white room: white-painted exposed brick walls, white plaster ceilings, and white linoleum floors. Inside, students and a professor critique one student’s architectural model. Huddled together, they squint, furrow their brows, and tilt their heads to the left and to the right. The way they all lean into the discussion draws me in and makes me want to join.

Stacy Jackson has three homes, spanning two boroughs and two continents.