Home is Where the Permanent Address Is

I can remember to exact moment that I decided to move to Manhattan. I was standing in the middle of Times Square, fresh from dinner on the town and tickets to RENT, my first Broadway show. My girl friend and I stepped into the middle of Times Square and instead of feeling overwhelmed I let out a sigh of belonging. “I love this city,” I said to my girl friend. When she responded, “Why don’t you move here?” I was left literally speechless, racking my brain for an answer.

I grew up very attached to my hometown of West Seattle. On every family vacation I was afraid that something important was going to happen at home and I would miss out on the moment of a lifetime. I applied to college based on in-state tuition and proximity to lifelong friends and imagined settling down and building a family in the same zip code as my parents.

This all changed in my senior year of college. I toyed with the idea of transferring to an out-of-state school amidst changing my mind and my major almost seven times (hello, undeclared!), but I never had the guts to follow through. It wasn’t until a friend passed through the study abroad office and discovered a pamphlet for a quarter in Greece (a place I had always dreamed of and talked about going) that something clicked.

Of course, I was terrified. I didn’t pack for my three-month trip until the night before my flight departed. The layover in New York City to visit a friend was meant to break up my flight and ease myself into the trip. I had left the country before, but I had never spent more than three weeks away from home. I had no idea that those three days would change my life.

I went back to my friend’s dorm room after that night in Times Square and emailed my parents, “I think I want to live here one day.” I was convinced that I had just been given the perfect trial period- if I spent the next three months studying abroad homesick and miserable than I wouldn’t move, but if I came home to the same friends, family and city that I knew and loved then I was free to go anywhere in the world. As you may have guessed, Greece was amazing and a crowd of friends met me at the airport upon my return with balloons and a “Welcome Home” banner strung above our freeway exit.

Travelers are often characterized as “brave”, which was a label I had a hard time getting used to. Sure, a new place can be intimidating and keeping up long-distance friendships can take work, but when the worst-case scenario is coming home to a place that you love, it makes taking that first trip a whole lot easier.   

The Novelty of Familiarity

One of the strangest habits to break after living abroad is learning not to get overly excited about things that remind you of home. In a foreign land your ears get accustomed to perking up at the mention of your hometown, or even just the sound of your native language. Sweatshirts with sports team logos and college colors seem to be written in neon lights.


These beacons are essential in combating homesickness. Wearing your home on your sleeve lets other people know a little bit about you, and can be especially helpful when you’re struggling to find any common ground to start with. It can lead to conversations based on mutual interests in completely unexpected places, and not just with fellow patriots- I found an Australian friend obsessed with the NBA!


And, if you can hold on to it, these little moments can help you see your hometown as someplace just as new and as wonderful as wherever you just visited. Just be prepared to feel like a kid in a toy store surrounded by a crowd of disinterested grown ups, or at least kids who already got everything last Christmas.