Spontaneously, home should be easy. It’s where you are born and raised. Right?
But is it really that simple?
Even though I didn’t grow up in the same town as where I was born (my parents moved when I was five), I stayed in the same place for the following 14 years. Went to the same school, with the same 40 people for the large majority of those years.
Nothing changed. Incredibly stable. Same vacation every year: One week of skiing in winter and two weeks on the same island on the west coast of Sweden every August.
Predictable. Safe. Home?
Having just read
‘s most recent post “I’m moving home” I couldn’t help but reflect on my own “coming home journey”.I never felt at home where I grew up despite it being the ideal home setup. I always felt itching for something else, something more - at least since I got old enough to realize that there was in fact something else out there.
As a result, since I was about 12, I had my goals set clear: I’d work as hard as I could to be able to leave as soon as possible. That meant not caring about being the annoying A student that nobody likes or to work all weekends as a tennis coach to save up.
If you have your dreams clear, the work feels less of a burden. Frankly, the work becomes a part of the journey, which makes the destination even sweeter. If you hadn’t worked for it, would it feel as satisfying when you arrive?
I did arrive.
There was never much doubt that I wouldn’t, despite not having a large support group. It references another of Annie’s essays where she spoke to a seemingly successful friend of how she came to be at such a high position in her career. The friend’s answer was powerful: Belief in her own ability.
I think I have that too.
At least somewhere deep down there, behind all the sleep deprivation, anxiety and general stress that comes with being a business owner and parent to two littles in today’s world with all that it entails.
Anyhow, back to the story. I left my first home three weeks after I graduated high-school.
Writing this I just realize I never went to the diploma ceremony for neither high school nor university.
That’s a funny coincidence.
I guess I’ve never cared much about the external credentials despite having straight As and scholarships most of my life. Whether it’s due to the deeply engrained Swedish culture of the “Law of Jante”, which basically means that you should never think you’re better than anyone, or if it origins from somewhere else, I cannot tell you.
I simply haven’t dug that sh*t up yet.
Many homes
I refer to the place I grew up as my first home. Because I’ve had many homes throughout the following nine years. Not only in terms of concrete housing, where I’ve stayed in everything from an 18m2 (193square feet) apartment to 300m2 (3230square feet) house.
The tiny 18m2 studio was actually, looking back, the place I felt the most home. It was the studio I had just moved to when I met my husband. He unofficially moved in the day after (officially a week). We stayed in that rooftop studio with views over the Eiffel Tower and Sacré Coeur for about a year and a half before not having our own toilet became unbearable.
Not to mention the nightmares of being stuck on the 6th floor with only a narrow, circling staircase all the way down or the long slim corridor without windows. Our door was obviously at the end of that never-ending corridor.
If I was really into making myself sweat, I’d imagine the poor maids who stayed up there in the past. The only way out is through that corridor and stair. However, on each floor going down (or up) there’s always a closed door which leads into the kitchen of the big nice apartments where they were most likely working. This meant that they wouldn’t be able to sneak out without being heard, or escape if someone with the key to their door decided to come up.
Sorry if that freaked you out too. I’ve got a vivid imagination. Staying in that apartment while stitching on my embroideries is probably the closest I’ve felt to sisters of the past. It certainly humbles you.
If you only knew how many endless hours I contemplated on that. Thank God I only slept alone up there for a few weeks before Charles came.
Oh, we also had some interesting neighbours. First, two Chinese girls who did instant noodles in their microwave around the clock. Then a Brazilian guy who spoke to a woman for hours no end. Every night.
He must miss his girlfriend back home, we thought.
Until the day he had a water leakage and a furious bourgeois Parisian came up from the floor under. The Brazilian happily opened his door and said:
“Bonjour Madame, voulez vous parler avec ma maman?”, which translates to “Hello Madam, would you like to speak to my mom?”
All while excitedly showing his mother on the facecam. Without the need for further explanation, the Madame instantly turned around in the door and never came up again. She found other people to send in her place.
We were still mostly chocked of how you can spend that much time speaking to your mother on the phone. But then again… He wasn’t Swedish. He wasn’t French either. Who am I to judge how you do things in Brazil?
So, where is home?
While growing up I was so focused on leaving that I never thought much about what would happen ones I left.
My first year abroad I spent in rural South Africa. I had a visa for one year, which meant I knew it would come to an end at some point. Hence, it was easy to relate to it as “just being abroad”.
I remember reflecting on whether I could stay there for life. At the time I had met a local boyfriend, which ultimately contributed to the reflection on such a destiny. Regardless, I had received a scholarship to go to university in Paris, so if I were to come back it would have to be later. No time to think too much. Bye Bye.
At 20 I arrived in Paris. And for the following three and a half years I felt at peace.
It felt like home.
After all, I had dreamt about going since I was a pre-teen and had seen Ewan McGregor sing to Nicole Kidman on the roof of the Moulin Rouge (which by the way doesn’t look AT ALL the same in reality… big deception.)
I met my soulmate about a year after I arrived in Paris. As a born and raised Parisian he made me fall in love not only with him; but also with his city.
We left Paris when I graduated university and took off on a somewhat nomadic adventure with residencies in another five countries throughout the following six years.
We spent it all on the look for our long-term home. The place where we would feel: Wow this is it. How can you know where it is if you haven’t been there yet?
Nevertheless, regardless of where we’ve been in the world, Paris has always been with us in our hearts. A longing for Paris. Maybe I can imagine Charles miss of Paris similar to Annie’s miss for London as she describes in her essay.
It also got me thinking of the distinction between growing up in a capital like Paris and London vs a tiny village like I did. In a capital you can reinvent yourself an unlimited number of times. There’s infinite resources and people to meet at different stages of life.
Where I grew up there are 7000 people who live all year around. Nothing much. If you don’t fit in with the ones you’re bundled up with, you’ve just got to suck it up.
That’s exactly what happened to me. Had I been in a place like Paris, I could’ve changed friends-group, school, sport (you name it) and have a completely new life within a week.
Parenthood spices things up
So why not just go back to Paris if that’s where home is?
It’s not that straightforward.
As soon as you become a parent it’s no longer just about you. It doesn’t mean that our feelings of home in Paris aren’t legitimate. But our gut feeling says it’s not where we should be right now while the kids are young. Maybe later.
Your children don’t only teach you a lot about yourself, but also about the environment in which you live. Not to mention the judicial systems that are in place and whether you agree with them or not. It’s an aspect we never considered before children, which suddenly is first priority now.
A concrete example is homeschooling. You cannot homeschool everywhere should you wish to do so.
In a country like Sweden for example there’s mandatory schooling, which means it’s against the law to not send your child to school regardless of the circumstances. Most countries have “mandatory education”, which allows for a lot more flexibility in terms of how and where that education is achieved.
I think we found it
The benefit of having travelled and lived in many countries is that you get clearer on what your priorities are. You know quicker whether a place “is it” or not.
We speak three languages daily at home and were curious to see which one our oldest would start to speak first. She chose French (I don’t blame her). It has since become the main family language, which also made it a priority when choosing a home.
Language is a huge factor to the feeling of being home. When you don’t speak the local language, like when we lived in Slovenia or Montenegro, there will always be a barrier between you and the local culture.
Language is a key component in understanding both how and why people behave in a certain way. For example, in Zulu (the language they spoke where I lived in South Africa), they change the verbs in relation to how many people that are involved rather than according to time (past, present, future). This indicates that the social setting matters more than when something happened.
I’ve lost count of how many times I stood waiting on the side of the road, because someone said they’d come and pick me “now”. There’s an expression called “Bantu-time”, which means “people’s” time. It’s not the watch who dictates what time it is, it’s the people.
In theory I love that. We’re way too stressed and time focused here in the West. But in the heat of those moments I admit I wasn’t always too thrilled…
Nevertheless, had I not known basic Zulu I wouldn’t have had the same understanding for why society was functioning a certain way (and as such, how I could best adapt and integrate to make it feel as much home as possible).
Back to present…
With French language and proximity to Paris as main drivers in addition to a desire to be close to nature, we’ve ended up in the stunning Ardennes of Belgium. It’s only been three months since we arrived. But for the first time in what feels like forever, I’m feeling at home.
I think this is what we were looking for all along. The balance between nature and city, language, culture and more. Feeling beyond grateful to be here. The journey was long and everything but straight.
Do I sometimes wish we could’ve skipped a few steps on the way? YES.
But every turn on your journey add stories to your invisible experience-backpack, which in turn builds your character and resilience. So I want to be grateful for all the turns too.
At the end of the day, a physical home is just a place. A true home is where you feel that you can be who you are meant to be, together with the ones you love the most.
Despite not having a solid physical home for some years, I still felt a sense of home because I was surrounded with the people I love the most: my husband and children. A homey physical home is just the cherry on top.
Thanks for reading and cheers to this new chapter of home!
Love Elin
Ps.
I’d love to hear your reflections on what home means to you in the comments!
Where do you feel at home?
Is it where you are from or where you’ve moved to? Perhaps you’re still searching?
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Home isn't a fixed place but a dynamic concept that evolves with life stages. The exploration of different places you've called home paints a vivid picture of the diversity of your experiences. Your ability to adapt and integrate into different cultures showcases a keen awareness of the factors that contribute to a sense of belonging. This invites readers to reflect on their own notions of home and the factors that contribute to that elusive feeling of belonging.