Home in Flux

I sit down to write at the break of the lake’s waves in my old college town. I thought I would find comfort and solace in the familiar scene--it is suppose to be my home. But Madison, where I had spent four transforming years of my life, no longer keeps the parts that I love. All the relationships that I nurtured, the insights that I found, even the places for reconnecting (this unchanging lake), the moments that made me, these things have gone. At least that’s how I see it. But really, I am the one who left.  I am the one who decided that this city couldn’t contain me or what I wanted. So now, when we stare into each others eyes, the water and I, we know that we’ve grown apart.

So I reflect on the places that I’ve lived, the ones I’ve been lucky enough to call home. What have they meant? And more importantly, why do I keep leaving? Each new home means fighting for a life worth living, new connections and lessons, feet on concrete and hours punched in and spaces occupied, my vulnerability showing. It’s rough and rewarding. It’s sweet and agonizing. But what have they turned into now that I’m gone? Maybe a phone call, a brief message, a virtual nod at what used to be. I cringe as I write this and know that it’s not true. I have profound and lasting connections in all of these places. But, of course, it shifts. And when I don’t shift with it, when we’re looking at two different horizons, I suddenly find myself lost.

I wade through my most recent memories of Uganda, a lifetime that lasted only four months. I feel like I will be there always. But back here, my view a split screen: one eye seeing what’s in front of me and the other imagining pictures of you. Is it raining? Is Lea smiling? Are our passion fruits heavy? I need to know. But I can’t and so I live this way. I came back to California this way. I force myself to move forward this way.

Another step: I’ve hit the grinding life of the job hunt. The part where you ruthlessly question every aspect of yourself, discounting each valuable experience--the ones that shape and drive you--as unimportant or “not good enough”. Plunging my head into the icy interviews, convincing speculative HR reps, endless cover letters, tweaking and re-tweaking myself. I offer everything only to land the ribbon for 3rd place which quickly turns into a noose around my self-esteem.  There’s no balance here, no center, no way to tether yourself to a place. Just constant questions and quicksand.

That’s when I reach a conclusion: Moments like these, the ones that blur and disconnect you, are the moments when I have to remind my head and my heart that I am so grateful.

I smile, thinking of the time when all of these questions and places and homes will come together to form a resounding and incredible Answer.