Note: This post originally appeared on the site suite.io, and was published on May 14, 2015, back when I was living in Vienna, Austria. The site has since shut down, but I thought that this particular piece was an appropriate way for me to kick off this blog.
When I returned to the United States after seven months in Germany, I had the peculiar feeling that I’d left something back in Europe.
But wait a minute–I couldn’t have. I’d packed everything, handed over my keys, closed my European bank account, wrapped up all of my obligations at the university, and dealt with all of the German bureaucratic-y stuff that foreign students are well familiar with. I’d forgotten nothing.
But as I stood in the U.S. customs line at the airport, as I rode home along a highway with my parents, as I spent that last month of the summer visiting family, picking up a few shifts at the local ice cream place, and travelling to a few different U.S. cities, I realized what it was.
I’d left part of myself behind. Emotionally, that is.
This was back in 2006. I was a college kid, had just spent an extended semester studying abroad, and had loved basically every second of that experience.
In Charlotte Bronte’s novel Jane Eyre, there is a scene where Mr. Rochester describes feeling like there is an invisible string linking him to Jane, one that would eventually break from the strain of being separated by distance if she were to leave. My connection to two continents–North America and Europe–reminded me of that scene. Except I wasn’t necessarily linked to a person. Part of my heart and mind were always in another place–with the people I had met there, the experiences I’d had, the place itself. I felt something similar after leaving Austria in 2008, and I feel it fairly frequently in Europe today, especially after chatting with family and friends in the U.S.
Perhaps people who grew up between two continents, or people who have spent a significant amount of time living in another country, have experienced this feeling. Maybe it’s even relevant for people who have lived in another part of their own country, like a Bostonian who moves to California for a decade. The string between two places is always there, and you have to keep up a connection–continuously–in order to avoid breaking it.
I have two homes: One where I grew up and where the vast majority of the people I love live, and one where I have learned about myself, discovered, had memorable adventures, tested my limits, challenged myself, and met wonderful people who will also be friends for life. Both places are incredibly special to me for different reasons, and while I will probably spend more time in the U.S. in the future, my “other” home–Europe–is always going to be a part of my life.
I write this from my “other” home with the knowledge that I’ll be returning to the United States within a few months. It will be just as difficult to leave Europe as it has been every other time I have left. The knowledge that I’m leaving one home for another, however, makes me feel lucky that I’m someone who is between two continents.
