I love Karyn’s conversation about her move…go read all of it. It speaks to me of leaving home for a place where we find it hard to find ourselves in our surroundings (the “no me hallo” phenomenon). Here’s the excerpt that caught my attention:

For years I had been wondering why I was here. If it was so divinely ordained, why the heck did I feel so out of place? Then Ron Lubensky threw me a lifeline, and that was the beginning of the meme.

Ron is a Canadian by birth, but he lives in Australia. Has done for 20 years. He related how his accent and Canadian-ness remain an object of curiosity for people. He related this exchange:

“How long are you here for?”

“Forever”

“How often do you go home?”

“Every day”

Every day. Every day. Doh! I wrote that on a piece of paper and stuck it near my desk. I have got to learn to go home every day.

Since then, there have been sermons that relate to this topic (including one from my husband last night about being where you’re supposed to be), bumper stickers that say corny things like “Bloom where you’re planted”, snippets of overheard conversations, throwaway lines from colleagues. So I’ve decided. Right. This is where I’m supposed to be – for now, at least – and this is how it’s going to be. I get the message. I’m here. African I may be, but I’m here. And I’m looking to the future. Hand to the plough and not looking back. Finally. After 8 long years of desert. Deep breath, loins girded, feet planted, jaw set.

What does the future hold? Here. In this place. I can do this. I can.

When I first arrived in the United States at the age of 10 going on 11, I found myself missing Panama something fierce. I wished I could go back, told my parents how dumb they were to have moved to the U.S. with its crime rate (bushes outside my window had me frozen for a few hours one night after watching the news), a school where everyone seemed to be studying a textbook I’d read 3 years prior in my old school. Yet, I had no choice except to adapt or continue suffering.

Now, home is here, where my heart is…with my family, the quixotic (Walter Mitty analogy wouldn’t be far off here, either) struggle at work, in the streets and highways where I still get lost. Would I give it up to go back? Maybe, if I had the courage. Karyn’s post reminds me that “home,” especially when it is a memory, is always near…and that I can visit home anytime I want.

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