When did we become the people who stop in Paris, because we can, because it’s on the way back “home”?
And where is “home” anymore? Just how long do you live in a place before it takes up permanent residence your heart? And how long does it take before your new life becomes just another day? I’m pretty sure if you have lived in more than one location, you can relate to the kind of love you develop for that “new normal.”
For my monthly column at Expat Focus, I addressed what “home” and “normal” means to me now. I do hope you’ll take a moment to follow the link and give your own thoughts.
The New “Normal” Is Really Kinda Strange
When I re-read my article after it posted, I couldn’t help thinking about a guest post last year, by writer Kayla Washko. If you didn’t read Kayla Washko’s essay, “The Moment You Become a Different Person Abroad“, I recommend it.
Have you lived in more than one place that became “home”, readers? Did something odd become your “new normal? I’d love to know your own thoughts on how it changed you.
Love, Marla
As you know, I have lived in MANY places – some of them temporarily, some of them more permanent. What made them ‘home’ I do not know. I know it wasn’t time, because I became fondly attached to temporary homes, but never really bonded with placed I lived for almost a year. For me it has always been a mutable thing, sometimes about geography, but more often it was about the people I came to care for (or not).
I think for Mom, it was always about her church home. IF she found a group of kindred spirits in a house of worship who also frequented the coffee shops and grocery stores where she stopped, she found a home, however temporary everywhere she went.
Marla, you make yourself at home among strangers in the most amazing way – you have always been able to establish friendships wherever you went. This is why you will always be able to make a new home wherever you land, be it in Africa, or the House at Pooh Corner:
I encourage you to read pages 9-11, in which Eyeore explains to Christopher Robin that he has lost his house, recently built… and remember the extremely late-night conversation we had one night so long ago, reading it over the phone and laughing until we cried.
Home used to be where I grew up. Not that I don’t call it ‘home’, but it really isn’t anymore. I’ve had my home when I was in college, my home when I was working as an adult, I even had a second college home later in life. But now my home is where my husband is. It doesn’t matter what city, doesn’t matter if we are traveling, or just down the street in town we live in, where my husband is, that is home.
Miss seeing you at SCWC Marla. that is another safe home.
Ditto on Pierr’s comment. “Home” can be anywhere because home is a feeling, not a place!
Miss you sis.
Good questions. Dorothy had th Ruby Slippers. As long as she had them on her feet she always had “the power to go back home.” These days I don’t seem to long for ‘back home’ (and not to be the spoiler but Dorothy never really left hers).’ My normal is creating a nest wherever I am, one that feels cozy, safe and simple. A place where I can open, be myself safely and totally – express all. Home is with me. I make a home of myself.