"Where we love is home. Home where our feet may leave, but never our hearts." - Oliver Wendel Holmes
I needed to go back. I needed to be surrounded by stone, cradled in the bedroom of my childhood, the crisp Mediterranean evening breeze gently lifting, caressing.
Caught in a crossroads in life, where we as a young family were ready to move from the small, Southern city we made our home. I said I won't I can't make my mind up until I go back. Something deep inside was crying and aching to be go home, back to the familiar, to my school friends who knew the me I once was. A dimension dormant within, not readily found after years of evolving in unfamiliar cities and homes figuratively built from scratch. Moving to a new country was once an exciting adventure, but the shock of a daily life so different and new, and the process involved in creating a new social network of friends as I redefined, reinvented and introduced my self to new peers again and again, resulted in a deep loneliness.
Can it be that I am destined to be one always yearning for the other side, never truly satisfied living in one culture as I straddle two?
Yet I went back to the cold hard stone that I missed with an ache so deep, the hustle, the bustle, the grime, the history, the unglamour. I was embraced and caressed, a balm to my soul, but surprisingly, unexpectedly, instead of a connection to a familiar self I once was, a missing piece making me whole - a part of the present erased, gave way, and as past and present blurred; I once again redefined, reaffirmed and evolved.
I found I am lost once more.
Have you lived in different countries? How has that affected who you've become? Where do you feel the most connected, at home? Please share!