The sometimes tricky business of defining where "home" is, now that you are living as an expat
After a relaxing and rejuvenating holiday break, we returned home to Japan. We went to sleep on our first night back feeling positive and ready for the new year ahead.
Some hours later, we were abruptly awakened by one of the strongest earthquakes in Tokyo since we arrived last spring. It was a creepy, uncomfortable and yet a somehow vaguely familiar feeling. And it left me wondering if I would ever be able to consider this my home, if even only for a few years.
As an expatriate, one of the most typical and frequent questions I am asked is “Where are you from?”. This is a natural and open question, but it always causes me to hesitate.
Where are we from? What is home? Is my idea of home, Johan’s, our children’s the same? Does our culture, last port of call, birthplace, or something more define us? Why? Does one’s definition of home evolve or is it static?
Perhaps if you have lived in many places, experienced different cultures or have celebrated major life events on different continents, “home” can become blurry and clear, expanded and condensed all at once. Perhaps for some of us, home is more of a feeling than an actual place?
For me, home is more than where I am from
I grew up in a small town in Pennsylvania. My childhood was spent in the same house, in the same village. It was idyllic and full of memories. Summer nights spent catching fire flies and football games cheering our team to the win.
My mother still lives in that house and I visit with my family often. But, I am not sure it is home to me.
I never really fit in in that small town. While my high school friends were dating and happily “teen-aging”, I was focused on submitting early admissions applications to universities. They were bonding and growing up together, I was reading fashion magazines and dreaming of city life.
I created memories and I remember having loads of fun times. But, I always spoke a different language to my family and friends in Pennsylvania. My goals were crazy to them and my ideas the same.
Home is where I feel like “me”
Later, in my early twenties and freshly graduated from university, I finally moved to New York City. New York was a complicated place and I quickly formed a love-hate relationship with it. It challenged me in ways that I could not have imagined, encouraging me and pushing me forward while also exasperating and confusing me. As a city, it was accepting, yet fiercely demanding. I loved it.
In New York I found myself evolving into an adult – one that lived alone, owned a car and managed a career with guile. I had never felt more alive.
Home is an evolving concept
Moving from New York to London to Zürich, I experienced so many meaningful life events. I got engaged, married, had children, built my career, started a business… and found out that I feel at home in many, many places.
When I discussed the concept of "where is home" with my children, their ideas were - on one hand - pretty uncomplicated. If they have lived there, went to school there and had friends there, it was home.
On the other hand, they surprised me with their openness. They seemed to have no boundaries or limits. As third culture children, Lulu, Friso and Cleo are open not only to space and distance, but to the endless worldly possibilities of where they can blend in socially and feel comfortable.
They all have a strong tie to Holland without having ever lived there. They love the food, the landscape and the feeling. They are at home on the beach in Terschelling or along the canals of Amsterdam. They speak Dutch (mixed with a bit of German and a touch of English) and recognise a feeling of familiarity, of wholeness, when they are there.
They love America. Even if their mother (who lived in the United States for some thirty years) feels unabashedly un-American, they feel a strong tie to Pennsylvania. They become fully engaged in discussions around American politics, love a good BBQ and never hesitate to roll up their sleeves and get on with fishing or four-wheeling with their cousins.
Home is a tangled web of emotions, connections and cultural ties
In all of the places I have lived or spent a significant amount of time in, I think there are a few basic ingredients that have made it home or not. Why did Pennsylvania feel foreign to me as a child? Why do my children feel that it is home?
I believe that depends strongly on emotions. For example, our years living in Switzerland were meaningful and memorable and our connections are very deep. We had our three children there, we built friendships and made a house a home. No matter where we go in the world, there is a part of me that will always feel best when I am my Swiss me.
I also love the beach. I love the water, the feeling of endless space and the moist, salty air. The moment my feet hit the sandy floor, I melt a little. My mind opens and my body relaxes. Home.
I love being in the kitchen. Mixing ingredients, trying new tastes, feeding my family… home.
The mere idea of my mother or my sister… home.
Where will home be tomorrow?
Johan and I often discuss where we want to retire (he a ski village and me a beach town). Our future home is more of an idea or a wish. It is a dream of how we will feel, move and connect to the world around us. It is a futuristic concept - almost the opposite of memories – unfulfilled potentials.
I am not sure our children will have the same ideas, once they grow in age and experiences. Or perhaps they will.
For many of us, the natural ebbs and flows of our lives have created an exciting path. The journey, the discovery is rich.
There is no easy way to answer the kind inquiries of “Where are you from?” without a story. The fact is, I am originally from America, Johan from Holland and the children were born and raised in Switzerland. We currently live in Tokyo and have no idea where we will go next.
But home? It will be very interesting to see how we interpret this experience as individuals and as a family when our time here is over. Will we call it home?
Johan and I posing for the iPhone, shot by Lulu