I have been thinking about “home” a lot lately. I recently celebrated my birthday and for the first time in my life, perhaps, I was not at “home”. I moved this summer from the city that I had called home for 11 of the previous 12 year. As an adult, I have had the privilege of living in 8 different countries, but each felt more or less like home after awhile. Of course, there were always signs that I was not really “at home”, but for the most part I felt comfortable and more or less at home.
I do not make a big deal of birthdays, so I was not expecting a fanfare for my birthday. I walked into my classroom to see a birthday card from one of my students stuck on a closet door. Before my school day even started I had a message from my younger son and had Skype chats with my father, mother, and older son. When colleagues greeted me many remembered it was my birthday. One friend and her children serenaded me in three languages. When my class came in I was showered with “happy birthdays” and even some cards and gifts. At snack time, we had a cake for myself and a colleague whose birthday was the next day.
It is little/big things like this that make me believe that I may have found my next home. Home really is wherever I am. I am glad that I have a flexible definition of home and that my home can be so many places.