Seeking "Home"

One thing I find most interesting and maddening about life is when to make the judgement call to close a particular chapter. Right now, the question is directed towards our current locale.

The warning signs are there. The restlessness, the ennui, the emotional cabin fever only partially caused by the blanket of snow smothering Chicago for the past three months. What comfort I used to find in routine now feels worn and rutted. When I’m feeling cheery, I can pretend to be a tourist in my own town and seek out new sights, restaurants, and events. While that can be entertaining for a day, it doesn’t change the fact that the place I live doesn’t seem to support or cultivate my evolving spirit.

When Mark and I bought our condo, we planned on staying for about four to five years before making our way west. We’d set our sights on Portland, though we prepared to embrace the uncertainty that comes with trying to relocate without jobs in place to hold open the door for us.

Life had a different plan and lobbed a couple wrenches at us-- namely, the economic crisis, double layoffs, and a condo valued at a fraction of what we payed for it. Life is never too hard on us though, and gave us a kiss on the mouth in the form of an opportunity to live and work in Ireland and travel Europe for the majority of 2012. It was a dream of an experience that left us wild-eyed and bewildered: “Is this real life? How is this our life?”

I came home with seams bursting-- both my suitcase and my heart. Expecting to live off the energy of the memories for months or even years, it shocked me when it took exactly four weeks for my wanderlust to re-appear. To most wandering souls, travel is like a sip of crystal clear water on a parched tongue. I savor it, but in my bones I crave more.

I’ve spent some time thinking about why this is, and I’ve decided it’s because there is no better way to continue to meet yourself than through travel. It’s a rare chance to see yourself outside of everyday routines, surprising yourself with your ability to adapt while also discovering tender spots of resistance and discomfort. It’s witnessing growth in real time.  

Ireland in particular opened up a new side of myself. One who needs very little beyond creature comforts, and feels pulled to the outdoors in a deep longing kind of way, a craving for stillness and fresh air in my lungs. The Irish seemed to have an incredible connection to their country that extended beyond nationalism. There was a palpable respect and pride in the land. It sort of broke my heart that so many tourists-- driven by the understandable desire to see as much as possible-- experience Ireland from the window of their rental cars, with scheduled breaks for a photo of a famous landmark and a drink in the pub. Mark and I were blessed with weekend after weekend to climb mountains until we were soaked to the bone, trek the cliffsides lined with heather and sunshine-yellow gorse bushes, and spend entire afternoons feeling the grass between our fingers while gazing out at the ocean or towards the rolling hills painted hazy on the horizon. We did this until every breath became alternating tributes to joy and gratitude that our feet had the privilege of connecting with this earth. To do any less would have felt like dishonoring the most beloved gift.

So here I am today, in the same geographical place that I was prior to Ireland. These pale green walls, the ceramic mug from which I sip my tea, this body-- they’re all unchanged. And yet I’m no longer the same, and have not been the same for the past year I’ve been home. It’s the same kind of sensation I felt when I returned to my childhood home for the first time after being away at college. To experience profound internal shifts and have your outer world remain static is disorienting and makes you question all sense of what defines “home.”

Of course, the best aspects of home are emotional: Mark by my side, a glass of wine at the end of the day, a place to stand barefoot in front of the stove, leaning forward over a gurgling pot of soup to steal a taste from a wooden spoon. Those comforts are with me now and will remain a constant regardless of the address on our utility bill. 

Yet the physical and geographic qualities of what constitutes “home” can shift over time, and while never perfect, some places can end up being more ideal than others. I still appreciate what attracted me to my current town-- the walkability, the old Victorian homes, the small shops and cafes. As the first suburb outside of city limits, we enjoy the pleasures of a quaint village and access to the city, but we still have to deal with the downsides of urban living. Noise, traffic (oh, lord, the traffic), and the spillover from the crime-ridden and dangerous city neighborhood that borders us. It’s best to be smart and on-guard while living here. Consider the local forest preserve and the largest park nearby, a place that could potentially be a small reprieve into nature for a walk or run-- I’ve been advised that they are no places for a woman to be alone.

Most of the time, I can’t shake the feeling that my wandering heart is being restrained here.

A few nights ago, a stunning blush-pink sunset splashed across the sky. From the corner of my living room window, I could see exactly five inches of it in the fraction of a space between neighboring buildings. The last time such a sunset appeared, I left the condo in a flash, running up the apartment-lined street in a desperate and fruitless attempt to bear witness to it as the street grew dark around me, along with my spirit. I want to drink up Koolaid sunsets; a sliver isn’t enough to quench my thirst. Logistically-speaking, there’s just nowhere to go nearby to find that kind of space and solace without resorting to climbing to the top of a parking garage.

I want nature to be a part of my life like it was in Ireland, woven into my everyday fabric. It’s a spiritual need as much as desire for movement: it is through nature that I am centered, grounded. Through nature, I am reassured that everything is as it should be. The deeper the breath, the clearer the mind. 

These thoughts make me recall this passage from Eat Pray Love: “... every city has a single word that defines it, that identifies most people who live there. If you could read people’s thoughts as they were passing you on the street of any given place, you would discover that most of them are thinking the same thought. Whatever that majority thought might be-- that is the word of the city. And if your personal word does not match the word of the city, then you don’t really belong there.”  

I can’t exactly pinpoint the word for Chicago-- Boisterous? Rowdy? Capricious? Hearty? But I can tell you that the vibration and values of this city do not match my own, and it’s come to the point where I am ready to discover the place that supports what I seek and provides a place to continue to meet the best version of myself.

Exploring. Seeking. Creating. Nourishing.
Vibrant. Progressive. Artistic. Natural. Relaxed.
Freedom. Community. Growth. Spirit.