Homelessness, the disassociation from your known territory. This isn't a manner of being lost, it is exile. When I lost my childhood home I had no say in the matter. I was uprooted at the whim of my adults. I was powerless and forced to migrate to a new land. A land without good pizza, without my childhood friends, without my mountains.
A refugee shares many qualities to a childhood dislocation.
  1. The loss of a home is involuntary
  2. Food is different
  3. Landscape is different
  4. The story that precipitated the relocation was sad
Home is:
  1. Orientation in  your day, week, season, life-stage
  2. An explored territory that holds few unpleasant suprises
  3. A place of refuge, a castle, a personal kingdom
Homes, Friends, Possessions
Find we no solace in the dusty corners of our memory?
My trail of bread-crumbs failed
They led me not to my territory.

Loss of the story's physical and temporal origen is a typical suffering. The heart of every refugee is open and bare to the rest of us who have endeavored to cover our scars. It is the psychic umbilical that we establish with our home territory, and once inevitably cut leaves the refugee's wound.
When I was a young refugee living in Canada, I retreated into the imaginary world of games and consensual imagined worlds that are very popular in Nova Scotia. My new friends and I established a new territory that no one could take away from us. This story was unattached to space, and was secure from invaders. A pocket universe that folded up into a book and go with me.
Where then is The Moment? The obvious tactic for managing distasteful space is to imagine green grass, likely just over your perceived boundaries. Our relationship with space suffers as we attempt to disassociate ourselves from The Moment, from a story in our heads that does not match our immediate environs.
The refugee is displaced from their trade, school, friends, family, as well as landmarks and many favorite forms of entertainment. They cannot provide for themselves, nor their progeny. The vector of life is not pointed anywhere hopeful. Thence rises dispair.
Tent, Caravan, Campfire
Road is my territory
Each step brings opertunities
Sanctuary is erected nightly

The Snow Bird, Tourist, Gypsy, Pilgrim, Camper, each is for the moment in motion. The tribal human territory was vast, and survival more tenuious. When we established a narrow home range and farmed we found our livelyhood subject to theft. When our bounty justified the division of labor and technical crafts led to a proliferation of things to be owned we found theft.
What the Gypsy may understand better than the Urbanite is that we can't own the land or our possessions. We will shuffle off this mortal coil and loose all we have worked so hard to cultivate. Death will one day catch you, but like a migratory flock, you can stay ahead of the local unpleasantness if your territory is inherently mobile.
Likely most of the squabbles that bedevil the sedentary are translated to a mobile form. There are likely to be fewer such squabbles.
Expatriates, Pioneers, Colonists

Those who are willing to trust in the sales brochure, uproot with essentials, and commit to writing a new story are the colonists. Immigration and mutation are measures of success. The story is what becomes critical. If there is no vector to the epic, then it is refuge. EPiC are builders as well as founders. They work the tem and establish the meets and bounds, reserving the last for the temple.
Story and Land
For the architect and planner, we are largely in the business of establishing territory. Thence it must be defended, taxed, utilized, and willed. The artifact of architecture and planning have greater life-spans and immobility than the rest of the arts, but they are no less impermanent. The tyranny of things outside us and stories within us are the root of suffering because of their ephemeral nature.
The refugee is unique in all these examples, being deprived of both external belongings and of a sound story from which to guide decisions. Gypsies have the story, urbanists have the artifacts (both have small amounts of the other). Pioneers have identified territory and laid in tools and necessaries to inhabit the new territory.
The vast urban centers of the future will be populated by those with territory, those with story, but of limited means. They will likely muddle through as humanity has for 500 generations. Their anticipated quality of life is low compared to the high GDP to low population cities. A lack of biophilia, nutrition, sanitation, and critical infrastructure is projected for the future city composed in large part of improvised neighborhoods.
What will architects and planners offer this vast majority?
The cultivated space is communicable. Examination of a communities' propensities can lead to cross-pollination with compatible urban stories. Improving the story is the mode of choice, as improving the quantities of artifacts is both unachievable and unadvisable.
Moving on this track, there needs to be an overt caveat to highlight the inevitability of loss. While its impact cannot be eliminated, the story can be crafted in such a way to allow for loss.
Story provides framework for the day, the week, the season, and a life-span. If we decamp from our comforts of the Consumerist Age we may find hope on new shores. Story: one of our oldest and most portable tool is the solution. We cannot change our world to nullify suffering, but we can change our mind about what makes us suffer.
Refugees and prisoners are the at-risk populations whom require a great deal of story-craft.
Common Vision