Maybe I’m bound to wander
From one place to the next
Heaven knows whyBut in the wild blue yonder
Your star is fixed
In my skyJust another bar, at a cross roads
So far from home
But that’s alright
Whenever I’m going down the dark road
I don’t feel alone in the nightThere’s a place in my heart
Though we’re far apart
May you always know?
No matter how long since I saw you
I keep the flame there for you
Wherever I goWherever I go. Mark Knopfler
A simple question really, but I struggle to answer it. Where’s home? somebody asked me the other day. Where are you from?
Sydney? (Well obviously I am not, as I do not sound anything close to someone from Sydney or Australia for that matter).
Canada? (Oh people love when you say that. Everybody loves Canada. Though often that leads to follow-up questions like “Oh yeah? Whereabouts? Vancouver?” And “What are you doing here?” Not necessarily a conversation I want to have with a random stranger).
Germany? (Europeans are interesting. Especially artsy ones. There’s a lot of generalisations going on).
My answer usually varies, depending on how much I am willing to share. But the question itself had me wondering: What is home to me?
It is Thanksgiving weekend in Canada and I know what everyone is doing. I can picture my children filling their plates with turkey and stuffing and cranberry sauce (can never have too much cranberry sauce), family gatherings, impromptu road hockey games or Scrabble games as my sons get older. I can hear them bickering and laughing and playfully arguing with each other. And I miss that. Being not there for family holidays is hard for me. Even if you are in a beautiful place like this one. And even if you made that choice to be somewhere else. Especially when you made that choice.
People tell me they live vicariously through me. The beautiful pictures I share. The stories I tell. Yet another fucking glorious sunrise I post. And look—I am aware of the beauty around me. And I know that being here is good for me. Being close to the ocean. Working a job that I enjoy (most of the time). Living according to my values. But is it home? To be honest I don’t even know what home is anymore. Maybe a little bit of everything?
The other day I was visiting a friend who invited me over and greeted me with the words: Make yourself at home. Do whatever you have to do to feel relaxed and comfortable.
So what is it that makes me feel relaxed and comfortable at home away from home? It’s the little things. The ocean definitely. My morning routine of watching the sunrise before catching the bus to work. Avocado on toast. The sunshine streaming into my apartment. Friends that check in on you. Colleagues that swear with me (or at me). Teaching the way I want to teach. Using my mother tongue to do so. Wearing nothing but shorts and a t-shirt for most of the year. The whirring of ceiling fans. The morning call of the kookaburra family (such a competitive bunch). A swim in the ocean. Not so much the rockpool (too busy). Extra shots in my coffee. The way the light is different down here, softer and gentler. Brighter and stronger at the same time. Gum trees. Steak night and schnitty night and pretty much any night with friends at the local pub.
It’s the little moments that sparkle, that make this place feel a bit like home. Sure, the flashy tourist attractions are nice—I am not going to lie. But it’s the everyday life I crave. The little gems. The sea glass you have to watch out for when walking on the beach.
Home is where the heart is. As corny as that sounds, it’s probably true. As much as I love living in Australia, it’s the people that make it feel like home. And missing my people back home. Another question I get asked often these days is whether I am going to stay, and I find that even harder to answer. Would I like to? Absolutely yes! This is my happy place. Will I stay? I don’t know. Home is familiar things. Home is a feeling. But home is also your people. Your kids. Your family. Your friends you have known for years. And I miss them. Some days more than others. They are what makes me shine.
Maybe I’m a bit like sea glass—broken and discarded, then transformed by the tumbling, churning powers of the ocean. Weathered, smooth, edges worn off. Beautiful to the person who picks it up… ok now it’s getting really cheesy. But that’s what being here feels like a bit. Beautiful and good and right—it just needs a bit of sparkle again.
Happy Thanksgiving everyone! And Cheers!
Thoughts From the Upside Down 