Coming “home” again…

They say you can never go home again. However, in a (albeit quick and not-comprehensive) google search, I couldn’t actually figure out WHO says that. But “they” do say it, and maybe its true. Cliché, but honest.

But given my increasingly nomadic lifestyle (and that of my friends/family), I sometimes question where home even is. Theoretically home is where you were born, so if that were the case, Dallas, TX. Or some might say it’s where you spent your formative years. Ok, so Georgetown, TX. Or where your mail goes—Lakewood, NY. But none of these really seem to fit. If we follow the also cliché adage of “home is where the heart is”, things get even more complicated. Because I am blessed to have a wonderful family and amazing friends, following that logic home is in Chautauqua County, Georgetown, Houston, Uganda, Austin, Boston, South Africa, Dallas, Brooklyn, Washington DC, Mexico, Montana, Ghana, Charlotte, New York City, Cameroon, San Francisco, San Antonio, Afghanistan, Gainesville, Kenya, Canton, India, Copenhagen, College Station, Denton, London, Chicago, Alexandria—the list goes on and on.

Other more practical and less romantic types might argue that home is the place where you lay your head at night, and if that is the case, its unquestionably Kampala, Uganda, in a lovely flat with a view of Lake Victoria, three adorably obnoxious cats (just the way I like ‘em), two fantastic roommates, and the most colorful bedspread you’ve ever seen. And for now, I’m going to be utilitarian and go with that definition. Which means I’ve managed to thwart the system, and have, in fact, come home again. But I think the phrase is not to be read quite so strictly. I think the phrase means that while you can physically come back, it probably won’t be the same. And to be honest, that’s true. While I’ve only been gone for an almost negligible 3.5 months, coming back has been weird. Not weird bad, just weird. Its one of those situations where everything is the same, yet nothing is the same.

I’m living in a new flat, walking in a new neighborhood, working in a new job, learning a new vocabulary of a new development sector, preparing to travel for work to a new country, shopping in a new market, getting familiar with new transportation options, discovering new eating and drinking spots, making new friends, catching up on the lives of old friends that have continued and changed in my absence. And it feels different. Again, not different bad, just different. But in spite of all that, it feels really nice to be home again.

And while I miss all the other “homes” in my life like crazy, for the moment, this feels right.