Belonging Nowhere

Photo by Edwin Andrade on Unsplash

I’m packing up my stuff to head home when the tears come. My sister notices first, and then my parents. I can’t find the words – I struggle to articulate my complex thoughts swirling. I say nothing.

They assume I’m sad my friend changed plans last minute for New Year’s. They assure me I’ll have fun no matter what I do. They tell me to stay and ring in the new year with them. They hug and love, but the tears keep sliding down.

I’d been on the brink of tears since my friend bailed, admittedly. After reading their text early Tuesday morning and realizing as I laid in the guest bedroom of my parent’s house alone, that I belonged nowhere and to no one. 

And the loneliness overtook me.

 Maybe I was using my friend as a crutch too much. Trying to make them play a bigger part in my life than is fair to them or any friendship. Maybe it was watching them fall into a third relationship that year when I’d fallen into a handful of short-lived disappointments. 

Maybe it is the fact that holidays alone are hard. An entire event, beginning as soon as Thanksgiving ends, centered on Santa bringing presents to little children all over the world. It is an on-going, multi-week reminder that despite being closer to 40 than I am to 30, I have still not replaced my parents as Santa. And that magic of the holiday is not part of my story. 

And maybe it never will be. 

Maybe sometimes, for any number of reasons, life is just hard and tears just come. No matter what version of the story one’s stumbled into, no one makes it to the end unscathed without moments of pain and hurt. 

I was no exception. 

No matter how hard I tried, no matter if I said or did a million things right, I would still spend my fair share of time working my way through moments that broke me. 

My consolation prize, in my eyes, has been travel. And for the last decade, it’s been my substitute for finding a partner who fits me. For two weeks each year, I’ve been able to let go, unplug, and lose myself in another part of this world.

Leaving my comfort zone each time, I’ve embraced other cultures, religions, languages, and people who look nothing like me. And it’s breathed life into me; a natural high that fills my soul. And for those two weeks, I feel like I belong, despite being a stranger in a foreign land. 

No one asks me if I’m married or why I don’t have children. None of that matters. For those two weeks, I am free. The comment I hear most from strangers in the airplane seat next to me is, “Are you on holiday? Where are you studying?” And I smile each time, knowing more than 15 years have passed since I graduated from “university” as they’d say. 

I try new foods, hike to places which take my breath away, watch more sunrises and more sunsets, and each day I feel more present. And I return to my life waiting for me back home with more joy and appreciation. 

I am more grateful for my job and for my team which make these moments possible. I love my family a little harder because, even though they don’t share or understand my love of travel, they know how much it means to me. 

And while I am not living the life I imagined, I am living a life I love. A life of freedom and flexibility and adventure and accomplishment. 

This year, my consolation prize was taken from me, as it was from many others. I can rationalize that my sacrifices this year pale in comparison to countless others’ around me. Those who have experienced loss, who have been on the front lines, who have been ill, or are drowning in work and home-schooling. 

I know how lucky I am.

But it’s all relative, and the life I knew and what fed my soul was a loss that I felt quietly. I ached in silence for calculated disruptions that sparked joy and growth paired with exploration on my loosely-planned trips aboard. I missed that small moment in time of feeling completely normal.

While I didn’t get to lose myself in another country this year, I did get to unplug at home. I gained moments with my family, memories and laughter that is also sacred and sparse living so far away. I grew closer to nieces and nephews, embraced my siblings’ families and got time with my parents – all of which I am grateful for.

After my trip home to see my family, I returned to my apartment 10.5 hours away. In my mailbox, a pile of Christmas cards I’d received while out of town awaited me; each a reminder of the pieces of my heart I’ve left across the world. 

My adopted grandparents on Alki Beach in Washington. My college roommates from Iowa. My best friends in Seattle. My new, treasured friend living a half a world away in Australia. Old and current neighbors and friends in Columbus. My friend I wore sweatpants and went to $5 movies on Tuesdays for “bring your own bucket” night. Co-workers and bosses who’ve become friends and my support system. Friends who’ve come and gone, and moved or stayed. 

And hanging them up one by one, I realized I may not “belong” anywhere. No particular place, no roots or zip code that feels like home.  

But sitting there that night, I realized the love I receive comes from everywhere. From so many. And I realized that meant more than simple geography.  

That means everything.