Missing home?

My old pastor (and a friend) Brian has posted more about his adjustment from expat life. He writes far more succicently than I!

Dear Brian,

I wanted to respond on your post, Missing home, but I fear my thoughts are too long, and perhaps a little too self indulgent for a blog comment.

I appreciate you sharing your journey like this – in many ways it’s validated all that Alice and I have been through. We’ve few people around us who have lived the expat life and returned to the country of origin with a certain uncertainty. Certain of what we were doing. Not quite certain why, or to what to end.

Click the post title to continue reading...Home is a funny word for me. Sometimes I laugh at the concept, sometimes I can’t stand to think about it. Sometimes I catch myself mid sentence, “When we returned home in 2003…“, and it doesn’t feel quite right. For a long time, even now, the house, suburb and city, even Australia itself, has simply been where we live. We are here, but are we really “home”?

The feeling is unique. Things are familiar and in many aspects bland, for they lack the simple adventure of living outside of what was the “home”. It’s like going one too many times to the same holiday camp. Everything is as expected, and the familiarity breeds boredom and a restlessness that robs you of the relaxation and change of scenery you so desperately need.

I envy your opportunity to return to Amsterdam. I know that even if I returned now it would not be as I remember. Our friends have moved from the places we knew them in. The rolling sea of Crossroads I’m sure I could navigate, but only by the few landmarks that remain from our time. Mostly though, there is something in my soul that needs to put Crossroads, Amsterdam, and Europe to rest. I need to see it moving on, changing and growing without me. I need resolve the loss. Sombrely, it is like visiting the grave of an important high school teacher – to finally put that part of your life behind you, say thank you one more time, and move on.

There is a certain deep theology in the expat life: to be not where you really belong – out of your depth, with only memories and faith and wit to live by. And there is still yet deeper meaning in the adjustment of returning: the profound understanding that places are places, and not really home but a sort of makeshift analogy, with emotion ascribed in an attempt to feel “at home”. I wish I could live by these words, but I’m frail, and weak minded, and have the need of some tangible sensorium to reinforce my being.

I’m glad you’ve found your home.

Blessings,

Phil