I looked out the airplane window on my return from Michigan and watched as we flew over my new home. It was my first time traveling after moving to Seattle, and I noted my ability to identify the landmarks in the city’s sparkling skyline. The Puget Sound looked radiant. With a mix of pride, dolor, and equanimity, I thought to myself: I live here now.
That was nearly three years ago.
On my flight back after a week visiting family and friends in the Midwest last month, I was once again struck with that mix of pride, dolor, and equanimity. It was the first significant period of time I had spent away from my house since moving this past summer.
When I returned to my house, I turned on the lights, adjusted the thermostat, quickly unpacked, sat on my couch, and let out a sigh. It had been a busy week reconnecting with loved ones, and while my trip was heartening, I felt at peace being alone inside my house once again.
Finding home has been an evolving theme over the past three years, and I still have so much more to understand. Maybe home can be a plural experience. Maybe forever places don’t exist. Either way, I believe home is an active process, and I have invested in making this house and this city a place where I want to be.
Sitting on my couch after being away for a week, I looked around my house and felt that same amalgam of sentiments, but smirked with affirmation.
It felt like I returned home.
