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.

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.