I’m amazed! I have been in Perpignan, France and in this new apartment for close to a month now and I don’t feel the least bit homesick. Have France and my new place become “home” for me already?
I’ve considered myself a homebody all my life. Someone who didn’t venture far from home and when she did she spent the time away slightly homesick, or, at the very least, saying to herself, “this place is nice, but I can’t wait to get home.” That’s why it’s so amazing to me.
During my freshman year of college I experienced severe bouts of homesickness. I’d forgotten how miserable I was that first year. I found some letters my mom sent to me while I was in college as I was emptying my house in preparation for my move. In one of them she wrote, “Dear Patricia, You sounded so sad when we spoke on Sunday. You really need to get out and meet new people. You need to stop thinking so much about the friends you left behind here. I think you’ll be happier if you do.”
I don’t remember reading that letter initially in 1985, but I imagine it didn’t make me happier. When I reread it, two months ago, I recognized the wisdom in my mother’s words. 
I had been holding on to my old life, to the memories of it. But I’d made a decision to go to college 250 miles from home which meant I couldn’t go home on the weekends like some of the girls at college could. It was time to start a new life. I’d have to make new friends and create new memories. This was what Mommy believed, and she was absolutely right.
The thing was, after eighteen years of living, I’d just gotten acclimated to the rhythm of my old life. I’d just started to become comfortable with who I believed I was as a person. My friends and those familiar surroundings of home created a frame where I could “relax” and be myself. Though, in hindsight, I never really ever felt completely at ease back then. I could, however, feel more secure and certain of what each day would bring, of how everyone would act, of what was expected. At college everything was new and disorienting. I felt alone and afraid.
Thirty-three years later, a longing to be in the country where I’d lived all my life, in the place I’d come to know as home among friends and family, is not what I’ve experience here in France. There has been a bit of disorientation with the language, the culture, the new environment, but this was something I expected; in fact, I welcome it. Since I’ve been in France, my only thoughts of the house I’d called home for eighteen years have been, will it get rented soon? and I hope the new tenants find it as lovely as I did. My curiosity about what was happening on the home front evaporated quickly. After the first week of detox from the continuous stream of “As the Whitehouse Turns” I experienced a profound sense of relief. I no longer felt drawn in to the drama that I had been addicted to.
As for the wonderful friends I’ve left behind, I do miss them, but not in the same way I missed my high school buddies who, I realize, actually gave me an identity. I clung to them desperately in an effort to maintain who I thought I was. Trying to hold on to the past hindered my growth and blocked me from getting a better understanding of life and making the most of my new situation. Now, I find myself wondering, on occasion, how Amy or Andy are; and when I do I send them an email or text or sometimes I even pick up the phone and call. But I don’t have the longing to be back in the U.S. with them. I don’t feel the need to be validated by them, as I had with my friends from High School. It’s oh so different and freeing.
I don’t feel homesick at all. I feel content and at peace with my decision to uproot myself, turn my world upside down and move half-way around the world. It feels very right despite the challenges I’ve faced in getting acclimated, meeting people, and wondering what move I should make next to make this place home. Home in the sense that I can support myself here beyond one year and make good, lasting friendships.
That sense of rightness, the lack of longing to be in the country I’d called home for over fifty years and that house I’d made a home for eighteen of them makes me know the transition to France as my new home is well underway. I’ve settled into my second apartment and am making it home. This second apartment, though very well equipped, lacks the character of the first one I lived in for only a week. I’ve added some personal touches here and there and it’s better now. As I build a new life here, creating a means to support myself financially, I can find that place that will truly be my next home. For the time being my apartment fits the bill and has everything I need to be comfortable and create the new life I deserve. I feel safe here. After a day exploring when I get home I can unlock the door and immediately feel a sense of relief, protection, and contentment, despite the decor and its limited personal imprint.
What makes a place, a dwelling, a home? Having that sense of security, safety, and familiarity. It’s a place where you can go and let down your guard and simply be you. In order to have this sense, you have to let go of the place you formerly called home. Otherwise you can get stuck in comparing or longing for that former space. Your mind and spirit then block any new place from becoming a true home. In order for this to happen, your former home has to release its hold over you.
During the latter phases of planning my move I began to feel this hold that my home, my job, and the United States had over me loosening. At home, I had the walls painted a sterling grey (a stark change from the bright blue and yellow that had adorned them before). This was in preparation to show it to potential tenants. From that point on my house no longer felt like home. At work, my job had stopped feeling so much like a home too. My boss had moved on to a new roll and we (me and my teammates) were left in limbo, temporarily reporting to the head of the organization. So leaving my job and putting that chapter behind me was not as difficult as I’d expected. As for country – quite frankly, over the last year the United States had begun to feel less welcoming to me, as a black woman, and much more foreign. During that time I felt less protected, less safe. Letting my guard down and being my true self no longer seemed like a viable option. These things that make a place welcoming and feel like a home were receding quickly and my spirit sensed it. The transition of making a new place home had begun and I could confidently take this huge leap of faith and begin my new life in France.
Photo Credits: Andy Beales, Elijah O’Donell, Patricia Brooks, Christopher Harris