Last month my cousin came to visit for a weekend. I took her into town for a bit of Christmas shopping. We pushed my child’s pram against the throngs of Cambridge shoppers and popped in and out of Christmas markets and sweet shops and the post office while running other errands.
During our time in town I ran into three different friends. I was able to pause and introduce them to my cousin, my family, and catch up for a bit. Three may not seem like an extraordinary number. It wouldn’t be a novelty to run into three familiar faces while running errands in my husband’s hometown. But, in Cambridge, for me, three was an exciting milestone.
I have become familiar enough with this place and its people to meet friends by chance. I can recognise faces in a crowd or on a long walk home. I know the bus schedule. I know shortcuts and can give directions. I am now more familiar with this place than perhaps any other.
Home has an interesting connotation for TCKs, maybe for me and my personality in particular. As I’ve learned about other TCKs experiences I have understood that the concept of home and belonging is vast and varied. While some have a solid and firm launching pad, others are sent off from a disconnected background, bumbling around to pull pieces of themselves together while already being catapulted forward into adulthood.
From my experience, the word ‘home,’ doesn’t conjure up a single place - actually it instantly makes me feel a bit of panic and sadness. For others, when they hear or say ‘home’ they know precisely what they mean. Thoughts of immovable houses come into focus. Memories of childhood years turning over and over with the same scenery reel through their mind.
Some stages never changed while mine was a constant, moving plank of set pieces. Disassembled and reassembled for various acts.
As I have grown older I can see how my friends and peers attribute home to the place they have cultivated for themselves - wherever that may be. As I have recently moved house, this idea of ‘home’ is still growing on me.
A few months ago, the word ‘home’ would never have brought to the surface a single place but rather a smattering of places and people and memories from around the world. The smell of pine trees in Texas. The sound of Scottish rain on grey pavements. The taste of mint leaves and lemonade. The enveloping warmth of sub Saharan humidity. The fragrance of black tea with milk, Mary Kay cream, and pop corn. The feeling of wrapping myself in a duvet against cold Kenyan nights. The taste of home-made fried chicken on a Mississippi night.
Home would not have meant Cambridge. It would not have brought to mind thoughts of old cobbled streets, or of a river adorned by houseboats. It would not have made me think of lilting autumn light in my windows or long summer evenings playing spike ball in the park or resounding carols by candlelight.
And yet, somehow, something has changed. Perhaps having a child has solidified my belonging in this place. Or perhaps, with time, home becomes less and less a place I long for, and more and more a place I build.
I’m still not sure when Cambridge became a home.
It wasn’t after the first year, full of uncertainty. It wasn’t after being away in the States for a year while my husband lived here.
It wasn’t after being sent up to Scotland to wait out the first lockdown.
Was it when I had plans for every weekend in a month? When I worked two jobs and became a part of different ministries in our church? Or when I was genuinely excited to welcome family into my home - without any caveat of it being too small or too temporary or too dull. Maybe it is when I recognised the abode given to me from the Lord at this time is lovely, and something to both cherish and be proud of.
Did it start creeping along to home when we moved into our attic flat? The view, the light, the ability to decorate it for ourselves. When we realised we could reclaim some of the narrative of what Cambridge could be in our lives.
It could be more than a stressful interlude to pound out a PhD. It could be more than a failed attempt at a nursing license, more than constant financial stress, more than a point in time from which we could quickly pivot and land elsewhere.
Or rather, was it when I looked around at my daughters’ party, a beautiful September afternoon of celebrating her safe arrival into our lives. When I first found myself laughing with abandon as I watched the gathering of people who came from our different corners of Cambridge, who had known us for the past few years and walked with us through some really dark days, some really angry days, and some really wonderful, joyous days.
I think that is when I realised, maybe this is our home.
And maybe home for me is no longer feeling a true kinship to a land, knowing all the ins and outs of a culture, or feeling nostalgic for a time and place.
I think, as it happens for most people along their journey on this earth, home became people.
And I can’t even tell you when that happened.
Somewhere along the way, with enough afternoon talks, enough playground meet ups, antique shops, very late dinners, pub nights, multi cultural thanksgivings, basketball games, coffee shop confessions, the people celebrating my daughter became home.
They are now pivotal characters in my story, people I cannot imagine my life without - I cannot remember my life before these sweet friendships began. They are people who challenge me, comfort me, make space for me, and, without me knowing how or when or to what extent, pulled down roots for me to make Cambridge home.
I still don’t feel like I quite fit in Cambridge. I am not British enough to be recognised by other Brits. I’m not American enough to really miss America or join the American expat crowd. I’m not international enough to leave that as my introduction.
So, maybe nominally I am still homeless. But, for the first time in fifteen years, I don’t feel homeless.
And with that, I hope you enjoy this season of Advent. Wherever you are in this great, wide world, I hope you find a quiet moment to reflect on the Son of Man who came to this Earth, uprooted and outcast, to bring us, His Children, to our final and beautiful Home. May you feel His presence and may the promise of Eternity with His comforting Love give you great peace as we head into the New Year. May He help you too, to find your way Home.