Its Complicated

Recently I was standing in a line making small talk with a fellow American tourist when I was asked where I was from. For me, and other military families, this is such a loaded question that I didn't even know where to begin with my answer. Is it where I live at the moment (Belgium)? But then some people think I'm Belgian. America? Is a generic "America" good enough or do people want more specifics? Is it where I grew up (Maine), where I first lived as an adult (Massachusetts) or where we first lived as a family (Virginia)? At one point Sidney was so confused that when posed with the "where are you from" question at the playground, he answered Albania. I quickly jumped in and corrected him but this led to his asking me where he was from since, up to that point, his only memories were of living in Albania. And the question is all the more confusing when we are together as a family. Glenn grew up in Maryland and went to college in New York before joining the Navy and spending time on both Coasts. And the tender age of 4 1/2 Sidney was born in one state, lived in two others (I'm cheating a bit and counting Washington D.C. as a state since we did live there for over one year) and has now lived in two European countries. So what is home anyway?

So how did I answer my fellow tourist? I took a deep breath and told him I lived in Belgium. He looked at me knowingly and asked if I was military. When I nodded in agreement he quickly added that he was retired from the Navy and listed several of the places he had once called home (including Virginia and Belgium). Here was someone who understood how loaded the question really is. It was like finding an unlikely soulmate in a sea of foreigners. But finding that type of understanding outside of our military community is rare.

Some days I look longingly at friends who are settled. From my perspective their living in a house they have owned for years, their children attending the same school with the same children for each grade and their ability to lay down permanent roots looks so comforting. They don't face the regular uncertainty of where they will end up next, whether the schools and the job will be acceptable and more importantly, what their new house and neighborhood will be like. On the flip side, I've had civilian friends comment about how exciting and even glamourous my life must be. From the inside, living this life certainly doesn't feel that way. Yes, with mobility comes opportunities and we take full advantage of them as they arise. But that doesn't negate the desire to not have to always be on the move. I'd love to not be continually packing and unpacking boxes, trying to make new friends and finding my way around a new community. Someday, someday.....

So where are we from? For the time being we live in the moment and home is where ever the Navy sends us. And at at the moment, that happens to be Belgium.

The Long Journey Home

After a month away, today Sidney and I are returning home to Belgium. I say home because, despite our month revisiting all of the places we have lived as a family, Belgium has become the place we currently call home.

During our month long journey up the East Coast then back down, we kept asking ourselves the question of "could we see ourselves living here?". And this is a pertinent question for us since with retirement looming, in a short two and a half years when we leave Belgium, we will be returning to the United States and for the first time, moving to a location of our own choosing. Never having the option to fully choose for ourselves, this is an exciting yet slightly scary proposition. 

So over the past month as we moved from one East Coast location to another we looked long and hard at what life would be like should we choose to settle there. The question of schools, job opportunities, cultural amenities, cost of living and overall quality of life were always in the forefront of our minds. Some locations we immediately dismissed as not being options. At one time we had made those locations work for us but in our current situation we just couldn't envision ourselves settling down there for the long term. Other locations possibilities and two became definite contenders. For both locations I even went so far as checking out the local real estate listings to see just what our money could buy us. Geographically and socially the two places couldn't be more different but we could see ourselves being happy and taking advantage of the opportunities they provided. Could we call either place home and raise our family there? Most likely. At the moment we don't have to decide but we do have a lot to think about.

So where is home? It is where ever we make it. Where is that? At the moment it is Belgium and it is good to be back. In the future? Who knows; only time will tell.

Home Sweet Home

A sunset view from our balcony

After a long week away, we're home.  While in Germany I relished in all that wasn't Albania.  First lets talk driving.  The Autobahn allowed us to cruise for kilometer after kilometer without the fear of a sudden loss of pavement.  (This is a regular, and expected, occurrence when driving on any Albanian road).  Traffic sped along but no one ever cut you off, streetlights and stop lights worked, and in a most un-Albanian way, traffic circles expedited rather than hindered the flow of traffic.  I also did a lot of walking this past week and it made me realize how much I really miss walking.  Sure I walk home from work most days but due to the lack of sidewalks, erratic traffic patterns, and pollution clogged air, the short trip is anything but enjoyable.  In Germany I walked on wide, well maintained sidewalks without the fear of stumbling into open man holes or encountering unexplained missing pavers.  When I approached intersections, all traffic came to a stop in anticipation of my crossing the road.  I'll admit, after close to two years in Albania I tend to be gun shy about stepping into a roadway even when I am in a crosswalk.  In Germany, everyone stops.  In fact, I quickly learned not to linger at intersections otherwise traffic from all directions comes to a standstill.  And I didn't want to be that person.

Because we stayed on Ramstein Air Force Base, in many respects if felt as though we were in a little America. I love traveling and exploring new cities and countries but there was something comforting about the law and order, U.S. military regiment that I was accustomed to.  And sometimes it is these little things in life that make me happy.  Rules and expectations for behavior are clearly posted and abided by.  Everyone I encountered was respectful and exceedingly polite.  The military hospital was immaculately clean, efficient, and most importantly, it had heat.  Unlimited hot water meant I could enjoy long, hot showers.  I'm not normally a soda drinker but the unlimited free refills of Dr. Pepper in the food court kept me going back for more.  The Exchange, the military's version of a Target, was just like the ones we shopped in back in the United States.  Restaurants, both on and off base, were truly smoke free.  Because Glenn was in training each day I was even in charge of the television's remote control. (I know this isn't an Albania specific issue; rather it is one I'm going to have to deal with for the rest of my life, but I still enjoyed it for what it was).

It was nice to visit with friends, compare notes on our respective Embassies and even have an impromptu lunch with a friend from Moscow who I happened to run into a the hospital, but by this morning I was more than ready to come back home.  I knew we were flying to Tirana the minute we boarded our flight in Vienna.  Flight attendants were reprimanding fellow passengers on the size of their carry-ons (which resembled bags that really should be checked), numerous people were unable to find their assigned seats and sat where ever they wanted, cell phones rang long after they should have been turned off, and general directions from the cabin crew were ignored.  Ironically, the March issue of the in flight magazine had an article on proper airport and airplane etiquette.  Unfortunately, it was only printed in Austrian and English.  Yes, we were heading home.  Upon landing we saw our first glimpses of sunshine in over a week.  (While Germany is beautiful and clean, it is gray).  We definitely saw more luxury automobiles on our drive between the airport and our house than we did all week in Germany.  The traffic was horrible, cars were double parked in what should have been no-parking zones, under the direction of police traffic circles were a clogged mess, and we witnessed more than one vehicle reverse direction on the main street and then take a left hand turn from the right lane across several lanes of traffic. This is just makes Albania, Albania.

Sidney welcomed us with open arms and we're quickly settling back into our usual weekend routine.    Our neighbor's crushed car is still sitting across the street from our house, the street dogs are howling, and our split-packs are making their usual creaky noises.  But despite all of this it is good to be back in Tirana. Given our lifestyle we move around a lot so home is what you make of it.  For us, home is where ever we are together as a family and at the moment, that just happens to be Tirana, Albania.  As Dorothy so famously said, "there is no place like home."

Home

So where is home?  For some people this is an easy question with an immediate answer.  To those of us with more nomadic lifestyles, however, is the single question that can bring a conversation to a standstill.  Just yesterday I was asked this question again and as usual, I took pause.  My reply ended up being "its complicated."  Most of the others in the room immediately understood what was meant by my comment as I went on to explain the reasoning behind my response.

Is home the address where I grew up yet haven't live at for over two decades?  Although I don't return there often, when I do, my mother's house immediately brings me back to my adolesence and some of the comforting memories of my teenage years.  Is it the city where I rented my first apartment all on my own?  I lived at too many addresses to count within a ten mile radius before finally settling into the small apartment I still think of as being mine.  (Yes, it was small and quirky but it had a great location and most importantly, it was all mine).  During a recent visit back to the United States I drove by my apartment and was a bit saddened to see someone else's light illuminating the big bay window in the living room.  Is it the Norfolk house where Glenn first introduced me to the fine art of home renovations?  A lot of blood, sweat, tears, and laughter were experienced under that roof. It was the first house we lived in as a married couple and then when baby made three, it became a true family house.  With it finally renovated to our satisfaction (including a large, perfectly designed walk-in closet that never held any of my clothes), we spent a year as landlords from afar before selling it.  Over two years later I still think of that house as our house and that neighborhood as our neighborhood.  Our subsequent neighorhoods and neighbors just have not been the same and I doubt they ever will be.  Is it the townhouse on Bolling Air Force Base where we lived for a very long fourteen months?  Ever the Army brat, Glenn had fond memories of growing up in military housing and assured me I would enjoy our time there.  Despite our waterfront views and our proximity to the best things Washington DC has to offer, I never came to like this home. Maybe it was the too close confines with its galley kitchen, the location of our "well guarded gated community", or the fact that I knew this was truly a temporary home.  Most likely, it was a combination of all of these factors.  This was the first home I was elated to move from.  Is home Tirana, Albania?  Over the past year this chaotic foreign un-European Balkan city has grown on me.  The crazy traffic, polluted air, and neighborhood cows have become a part of my daily life.  Our concrete monstrocity of a house filled with borrowed furniture and lush garden hidden behind the high wall (a concrete one of course) is the place I return to each evening.  Like all of my other homes, this one is also temporary but at the moment, it is mine.

Yes, for me, home is all of these places. It is the small Maine community I grew up in, the Massachusetts city I lived in during both college and my early adult years, and the Virigina city I first lived in with Glenn.  With each consecutive move I've realized that home is where I am at the moment.  The state, zip code, or even country may change but the tangables remain the same.  Whether it be a rented apartment, our own suburban house, or yes, even that dreaded townhome on a military base, at the time it was our home.  With each new house once I unpack our family pictures and put our books on the shelves we are home.  Regardless of the walls that surround us we quickly settle back into our familiar and comfortable routines.  That is until our next move beckons us.  The one constant through all of this, my little family, remains the same. So as long as they are there with me, that will be the place I call home.