We’re back from our trip back east and it’s got me thinking a lot about home and what that means. We spent a lot of time in our childhood homes on this trip. We also spent time back in our old neighborhood in Brooklyn- our home for 6 years. Coming home to our house in Austin, though, I felt for the first time since we’d moved here 18 months ago that this was really home right now. And at the same time, in planning for this trip, I would tell people, “I’m going back home,” and that still feels true.
One oppressively muggy night in New Haven, I took a walk through my childhood neighborhood with an old friend and it did feel like home. I was comforted by how easy it was to navigate the streets and talk with someone who has known me in various stages of my life.
In Brooklyn, we discovered unused Metrocards in our wallets and joined our friend on her morning commute on the F train- sweaty and cramped and deliciously familiar.
Back in Austin where it is too hot and the grass is scorched, I found myself exhaling a deep sigh of relief at the airport. Relief to be home from a long trip, but also relief that we have yet again created a home that feels like home. It seems this trip was about discovering that home can be in many places at once and that creating a new home just takes little bit of patience.