;)
It would be nice to come home, I guess...to a couch, and a stove, and a backyard...
Recently we passed the two year mark on what I expect to be a four year assignment in Lagos. I was feeling pretty good about it at the time - proud even. Proud of how the kids have adjusted, proud of the work I have accomplished and for finding the niche that gives me purpose outside of my role as the "trailing spouse".
But lately I have been conflicted about what we call "home" - about our life here versus our life back in the US. I use quotation marks around the word "home" because despite my efforts to make a home here, the word still feels a bit foreign. And despite actively trying to live our life in a way that does not feel temporary, I still struggle to answer the question - Where is home for you? Until recently, our "home" in the US was the one that felt temporary because it was nothing other than a PO Box in the company mailroom. But now I'm not entirely sure where our true home is.
Last year we were given the amazing opportunity to buy a house that has been in my family since the 1940s. It is a perfect situation in that my aunt and uncle continue to live there - in the home they love - and look after it on our behalf. When we return to the US for our annual home visit (ack, there's that word again - home!), my aunt and uncle take a holiday and we live in the house, er, the home, that is now, officially Ours.
While this was never part of our plan, I have found the benefits to be far greater than I expected. There is something very reassuring in having an address versus a PO box. We have left bikes and toys, clothes and supplies at the house which makes our summer vacation feel slightly less nomadic. I finally have a valid driver's license and we even receive little updates from the neighborhood association despite our overseas existence. No doubt we are those folks who live in Nicaragua (or was it Somalia?).
Still, the children love being able to tell people they have a home on Cape Cod. They go to summer camp there and have their own bedrooms. They even tell people we have a pet. I love this because it is actually a surrogate pet that belongs to Grandma. Clearly, they have adopted my 'Fake it till you Make it' approach to life! But when they are feeling homesick, I remind them that we got the house so we would have a home no matter what comes next (psst.. that's code for "after Lagos"). For me, the house will always be in my heart, but unless someone strikes oil in Hyannisport, I don't see us truly living there anytime soon.
Truth be told, I feel a bit guilty if I don't refer to Lagos as my home. Especially considering my job here requires me to help new arrivals make Lagos their home. Counseling families, helping them get settled in, creating a community, anything to offset the homesickness that accompanies families on the move. I mean, you can't sell someone on something you don't believe in right? If I were to allow myself to think of Lagos as a temporary location or worse - a waiting room, I fear I would miss out on so many experiences and friendships. I don't want to look back later to find I had wished it all away.
Unfortunately, after 2 years, people stop seeing you as a newbie and start seeing you as a veteran and the inevitable question comes up - How much longer are you going to be here? I dislike this question because it adds an expiration date to our life and reinforces the idea that our life is again - temporary. For me, the word temporary is often synonymous with unsatisfactory, or inadequate - temp housing, temp schooling, etc. When have you ever heard someone say something was amazing and also temporary? (Hey! I just got a new leg! It's only temporary though! wahoo!). Putting an expiration date on our life sends a message to our families and to my children, that somehow this is not really what we want . That we just have to tough it out somehow. I just don't feel that is a healthy way to spend your days - let alone four years.
I know I should feel grateful that we have so many homes - and by "Home", I mean a place that you are comfortable; a place where there are people you love and who love you back. Boston, Pittsburg, Houston, Melbourne, Lagos - I can't imagine how different our lives would be had we not lived in all these places. I also can't imagine leaving the friends I have here.
But again, when someone asks "Where is Home For You?", I pause. Perhaps it's just easier to answer the question - "Where Do You Live?"