Where is home?

We head home tomorrow with mixed feelings. On the one hand we are excited to see our family and friends, and on the other, we wonder if “home” will still feel like home. We have never lived in the house we are going back to. For us it holds no memories, and until it is renovated, it won’t really feel like ours, and it will never enjoy a view as beautiful as the one we had in Conchas Chinas.

When I came home from my first trip around the world, I got a bit depressed. It is a common thing after long periods of travel – particularly in the developing world. At the time, upon coming home, I saw such a drastic difference culturally in how people treat each other. I had been in Africa and India for extended periods of time, and had experienced genuine care and hospitality. When people there asked how I was, I felt like they genuinely wanted to know. In the developing world people are not in a hurry. They have time for you. Hospitality is about sharing and caring - it is not a competition. It felt different when I came home. People were busy with their lives, and the pace of life was so fast compared to where I had been that in a way I felt left behind.

I do not expect that response upon returning this time. The culture shock of coming home is not new to me, and in fact, this time it is almost the opposite. For 9 months we have lived with wonderful tropical weather, pools and beautiful beaches, lovely homes and gorgeous vistas, and I am going home to a dated 1980's house with mint green paint and no pool. Ick.

We will have two months before we leave again, so we will use that time to fix the shower that leaked while we were gone, and prune the trees, try to revive the dead grass, and get some gardens ready for next spring. We have house sitters coming the end of September when we will head back to Mexico for one last hurrah before getting serious about renovating the house and making it our own.

Often on this trip, as we were walking down the the pristine white sand beach of Utila, or on the cobblestone streets in Ajijic or Conchas Chinas, drinking in the luscious views around us, we caught ourselves musing about just selling our properties back home and moving down here. I wonder, will we feel that way once we get home? Will we really BE home? Is home where you own property? Or is home where you have friends? Is home where your children live and where you can eat and cook together with them?

I don’t know the answer to that question anymore.

Our kids live in three different provinces. My first grand baby probably won’t even speak English. I saw more of some of my Oliver friends in Mexico this winter than I did the preceding summer in Oliver. Where is home?

They say Home is Where the Heart is: but for us, that seems to change from moment to moment.