A few times when I was a kid, my family tumbled into our Expedition and took winding road trips down the west coast. We’d drive until we saw a light—grab some roadside dinner at 11pm, find a random hotel at midnight. Maybe the beginnings of my taste for adventure. Just this week, my family took another Washington-to-California drive, without me, to escort my little sister to Berkeley, where she’s starting university. I feel far away. I feel homesick.
But just this week, we’re trekking to Agourai, our first home in North Africa. We haven’t seen our Agourai family since the end of March. I’m dancing at the thought of seeing those faces and kissing those cheeks again. I feel anticipation. I feel homesick.
But just yesterday, when our train pulled up at our city’s station, we felt a mountainous relief—a slacking of shoulder, a breath of reprieve. The feeling of arriving home again after a long journey. We’d been away for ages, working at an amazing language camp on the beach. I missed our apartment. I missed my friends. I missed the familiarity… Some of you know that we’ve been having some trouble holding our site in our hearts. And so it took me a moment before I recognized why the knot in my stomach eased out. I had felt homesick.
This is the price we pay. These are the riches we reap. The blessing and the curse of having so many homes. Of loving people all around the world. Of being a global citizen. No matter where I go, no matter where I am in this world—I will always be homesick.