Going Back Home

I’ve heard it said travelling is an excellent way to discover more about yourself and life; to grow, to learn. I think my favourite quote at the moment which reflects this is:

You must go on adventures to find out where you truly belong.

Sue Fitzmaurice

I just returned from visiting family in Texas. I got to see some of my favourite people in some of my favourite places. However, I wouldn’t immediately classify my elongated weekend of visiting my older siblings as one of those dramatic life changing experiences such as when I visited either South Korea or Israel, but it was enough. Enough to show me something I did not know I was looking for.

Before I left, I talked with a friend, also from Texas, about “going back home”, and mentioned how each time I do, it feels less and less like I’m going home, like I’m returning to the land of my childhood.

This is mostly because my parents no longer live there, so I’m not returning to the house I grew up in or a similar place which has remained constant regardless of time. Instead, I’m always returning to a vibrant, evolving city who’s changing as much as I am. Even when I stay with my siblings or other family, their lives are just as whimsical and progressive. When these changes intertwine for a few days, it is enough to show much how much I’ve changed since moving away.

The only constant in life is change.

Heraclitus of Ephesus

In only three weeks, it will be 10 years since I left Texas.

It’s difficult for me to imagine I’ve lived in one place for so long. Though, you could say Kansas City is where I “grew up”. It’s where I found myself. It’s where I found who I am, apart from everything familiar and influential. It’s where I became me.

And I like it. I like me. I like who I have become. I like who I am.

I guess that’s why this time when I returned to KC from my trip, for the first time ever, it truly felt as though I were returning home.

I don’t know why it took 10 years for Kansas City to feel like home, but it does now. Knowing myself, I was probably in denial. Of course, I’ve changed in these 10 years, and so has the city, but I wouldn’t necessarily attribute these changes to this new sensation.

What’s changed is I found a family.

I’m in this pre-pre-pre-marital counselling, right? It’s obviously got me thinking about the future and marriage, etc. Now before you assume I’m putting the proverbial cart before the horse, let me reassure you this “family” is not my boyfriend. He is only a component cog in a more cohesive, inclusive wheel. (A significant component, but still only a cog…for now?)

What is this wheel, this family? My synagogue. It’s this place, these people which makes Kansas City my home. (It’s even where I met my boyfriend.) It’s here where I belong.

As I drove home yesterday, I felt two resonating thoughts, which are why I think I’ve always felt reluctant to wholeheartedly admit my synagogue as my “new” family.

1. I don’t want to be like [my past]. I want to be me. I like me.
2. Does this mean I love my [biological] family any less?

I think the fear that my new life, my new family, my new self could mean I love my family any less has inhibited me from moving forward. I don’t want to hurt them by loving them any less, but, as my boyfriend reassured me last night after I shared these new thoughts, “Does it have to mean that?”

No, I don’t think so, but I don’t know so.

From what I understand from an outsider’s perspective about marriage, you create a new family which has evolved from a preexisting family. It sucks because it means you have to leave your old family behind, but that doesn’t change the love you have and share for each other. It only changes your prioritization of that love, if you even want to categorize love with such quantitative terms. That said, it does not change the love itself.

All my older siblings are married and have their own lives and families. Thus, whenever I get to tag-a-long for the weekend, I really am just tagging a-long. There’s nothing wrong with it, but because it is rare, I forget how much we’ve changed.

This time, I realised it was me who’s changed. I’ve moved on. I’ve met someone. I’ve found a home. And I like it. I want it. I want to keep it, make it mine, my own. I want to stay.

But that means saying goodbye, and I still hate goodbyes.

Never say goodbye because goodbye means going away and going away means forgetting.

J. M. Barrie, Peter Pan

Maybe I won’t forget. My siblings haven’t forgotten me. Why should I forget them? Only…it’s the knowledge, the understanding how much this changes everything which makes me afraid and not hurt any less. Then again, maybe not, because maybe I’ve been clinging to something I should have let go of years ago.

I know this also means now I will have room to grow, to create, to embrace this new family of my own. I know and trust they’ll be there for me as I’ll be there for them. It’s exciting to anticipate what the future could hold.

However, this illumination really hurts, but I don’t know what else to say except, “I’ll always love you. Forever.”