Home. A word that stirs up a variety of places for me, including a village in the very north of Bavaria where I spent my childhood summers, an island on the outskirts of Corvallis that felt like another planet growing up and my current windy European city of Hamburg.
I spent the past weekend in Düsseldorf visiting my cousin and yesterday we headed out to an amazing park to get away from the bustle of the city. In the middle of this pasture was this amazing house complete with an ancient barn and pebbled garden. It made me long for my own place to one day call home and rediscover that comfort I felt growing up. There was a moment when the sun was directly over the house creating a luminous halo and it filled me assurance that yes, I would one day have that feeling again. I never have felt at home here in Hamburg and to be honest, most of the time it’s been a pretty lonely ride. My main comfort here has been my yoga practice.
The one home that resonates the most with me is actually the one where I spent the least amount of time. Yes, I am talking about Portland. I miss the rain, the beer, the farmer’s markets, the dive bars, the restaurants, the bookstores, coffee shops and thrift stores that sprinkle throughout the city. I miss the bridges and the proximity to Mt. Hood. I miss the people and the possibilities I know are there. These are the things that make life great.
I realize that no place is perfect. There will always be something to complain about, such is life. But for the most part, my time living abroad has helped me appreciate what was there all along. Home. I am really happy to be moving back in a few months and know I am doing it for all the right reasons.
