"Like a Wrecking Ball"

"I've.. I've been gone.. I've been gone too long; Singin' my songs on the road, another town; One more show then I'm coming home..."

And then this happened. We're back. Or rather, we've been back - for about a month. 4 weeks to be exact. One month since we moved back from Nigeria and about two months since we found out we were being, gulp, "repatriated".

I really hate that word. Repatriated. Possibly almost as much as "trailing spouse" or "accompanying partner" but just enough to make the top of my list. There's something about the word that is just disagreeable. For me, any word that starts with the prefix -Re implies negativity. Returned. React. Reverse. Refuse. The word somehow suggests that you did something wrong and are now effectively...what? Being sent packing? Being shown the door? Deported? Exchanged? Nope. Repatriated. As my friend Dana said, The Party's Over.

I realize our friends and family don't see our move that way. They see it as a Homecoming. Especially after such a tumultuous year (do I need to Re-name the Evil E words again? No not Enron... but Ebola? Elections?). My family and friends are happy. For them, we are out of harm's way and in a place they can understand - and actually visit. But I just don't feel that way - not yet anyway.  I know it is partly because I really did (despite my many, many, rants) enjoy my life there. And I wasn't alone in that. I loved the travel and the people and the colorful, albeit unpredictable culture. I loved being part of the club that only people who have lived in Lagos can belong to. But I knew many who didn't like that life; who actually dreamed of being "re-patted" (ick, it's even uglier when you try to abbreviate it!). For them, repatriation was something to hope for - like getting discharged from the Army or a hospital. But I never understood that.

Being on assignment and exploring a new country gave me purpose, even if it was a temporary purpose at best. I realize there are a lot of reasons to be happy about returning to our home country. A new and rewarding job for E, a beautiful new home for our family, a different learning environment for the kids, access to friends and loved ones we don't always have time to see. Ultimately it provides a much needed return to "normalcy", if you can call it that.  But for me, returning home doesn't feel normal. Mostly because I don't feel I have a strong identity in my home country. If I have any kind of identity, it is oddly, being "Someone In Transition". Sometimes I think I've spent the last 15 years in some type of transitional phase - Newly married/New to Houston; Employed/Unemployed/Employed again; Trying to get pregnant/being pregnant/getting pregnant again; moving to Australia and Re-turning home.. then moving once again. 

Finally, I have to admit - it's far easier to avoid long term commitments like career goals when you are constantly in transition. It is a quick and easy crutch. It's my Go To Crutch and I know it. I use it to avoid making decisions about getting a Masters degree or starting my own business for example. And when your "job" is to relocate (Re!) children across the globe and make sure everyone else's needs are met, it's easy to put all your own needs aside. 

The amazing thing about expat life is that you are rarely alone in your experiences. Not surprisingly, my friend Inga (names have been changed to protect the tall blond and innocent!) is going through a similar experience right now. She impressed me by saying she was eager to return home so she could "do Houston better this time". Despite my funk over our move, I know she has the right attitude. Other friends have suggested the same - to treat our move like another assignment - to eek... Re-Do it.  So that's my plan - for now anyway. A Do-Over. To be an expat in my own back-yard. To be a tourist in my own town. To try to love on Houston a bit harder. 

"Crash right through the front door, back you up against the wall... Love ya baby like a wrecking ball"...