Due to
a whirlwind of finals exams, difficult goodbyes, and a trip to the south of
Chile, it wasn’t until I arrived at baggage claim in Sea-Tac airport that I
realized what standing there actually meant.
Although I was the one landing once again on Washington soil, returning
to the Northwest seemed to lower itself around me like a winter fog; I felt
both refreshed and vulnerable. The pine
trees standing tall in the December chill simultaneously welcomed me and ignored
my existence. The scent of our family
minivan triggered fond memories, but the English vowels leaving my own mouth sounded
harsh and congested. At first, some people
appeared to be on social timers, after about four to seven minutes they formally
signaled their departure with, “Well, ya know I really should_______.” All this left me with one pressing question: was it true that I’d returned home?
The
subject of “home” simmered as I emptied the suitcase that had become a faithful
companion through months of travel.
Inside I found a small, forgotten slip of paper given to students after
completing a semester at the Costa Rica Campus.
I picked it up and read the quote, “The mark of a successful sojourner
is not that he has finally come to appreciate fully the meaning of home, or
that he may have relinquished one home for another more suited to him, but that
he has found two places ‘where he can go out and in’.”
As I currently reflect on these
words I stumble over the phrase, “where he can go out and in.” Honestly, I find “out and in” to roll
strangely off the tongue and am tempted to invert it. Undoubtedly, however, this sentence order was
intentional by the author, and as I sit repeating those words I understand the
importance of their syntax. After
spending almost eleven months outside of the U.S., I now understand that the
first step in defining home is leaving it.
In leaving the securities of home we find ourselves exposed to an uncontrollable
present we once manipulated through planning and cultural norms.
Initially, I believed that leaving
meant physical relocation from the place in which I resided. I now realize that the real journey was much
more than physical, and that the people I met helped taught me valuable lessons. After all, physical relocation without
personal growth is much more like tourism than the (sometimes necessarily
uncomfortable) sojourn I believe is being discussed.
When people ask me how the trip
went I seem to fall back on a vague, “It was amazing. I learned a lot and am so thankful for the
opportunity.” How could I possibly
explain that ironically I learned more outside the classroom than in it, or
that when volunteering at English classes I learned
while teaching? With time I hope to improve
this answer. I hope to translate the
detail of celebratory meals and eye-opening conversations, to enthusiastically
reinvigorate the laughter and friendship shared by many along the way, and to
have eleven crucial months consolidated and gift-wrapped for those dearest to
me. In the meantime, I offer a new appreciation
for life and thankfulness for all who share their experiences and places as
together we search for “home.”
In closing, to those of you who
read this blog as entertainment, or because there was nothing else floating on cyberspace,
I thank you for reading and hope you’ve found something worthwhile. For the others—those loved ones who urged me
to start writing and who form my definition of home—I remind you that a couple typed
thoughts can hardly reflect the growth of the past months, and that you’ve only
received a summary…for now. I look
forward to the stories we’ll share, and mil
gracias for your support.
So as the year 2013 wraps up, this
blog also comes to a closure, but the lessons I’ve learned on the road this
year will continue with me indefinitely.
Of course, one final thank you.
-Austin Vander Wel
