So many people both in Norway and in the U.S. would ask “Aren’t you excited to be home?” I would say “Yes” and carry on but for some reason that answer never rang true for me. It wasn’t that I wasn’t looking forward to seeing family and friends and my puppies and the sun and Tex Mex. I definitely was so I couldn’t figure out why that question irked me.
And then I realized in the year of being away I never had the thought of not being “home”. Norway was home. It felt like a disservice to not give this place that welcomed us with open arms the credit it deserved.
We were a part of a community. We made long-lasting friendships. I had a library card.
We were safe, loved on and felt a strong sense of belonging. And if that’s not home, I don’t know what is.
The physicality of “home” has always felt arbitrary to me. As a child, I split time between my parent’s homes and then as an adult have moved, started over and created a home again and again.
Home isn’t a place. It’s a feeling.
It’s a surreal feeling to feel like nowhere is home but everywhere is as well. I wouldn’t change it for the world. It lends itself to a sense of adventure and opportunity and stretches you in so many ways. It’s a comforting feeling to know you can go anywhere and create a home for yourself. It’s not without heartache because whenever you leave home, a part of your heart never leaves.
So yes while I am excited to be home in Texas, I miss my home in Norway.
What a blessing to be able to call so many places home. And that is something that rings true.
