When a nomad goes home

in philosophy •  7 years ago 

What's a nomad, first of all? And why do I think I am one?

Well, mostly because if you ask most of the people I know, they would probably define me as one. Not sure if it's a good thing or a bad thing for them. For me, it means that I can't really imagine living all my life in a place and whenever I am somewhere for too long I get this urge to see what else is there. Because the world is huge, and the possibilities are infinite.

Therefore, I think I can define myself a restless nomad. A traveler. Even if I met people who are way more nomadic than me, compared to the average person, I move a lot.

I left my home, my village and my family when I was 18, to go to the university. Pretty normal for most of people, not so much if you are Italian. Since then, comments about how I am an only child and what my parents are going to do without me, have been said over and over again, sometimes jokingly, sometimes not. I have come to terms with that, I don't let the feeling of guilt for "abandoning" my family drag me down any longer. Don't get me wrong, I love my parents. And I probably love them even more since I moved out. Because if you are unhappy in a place, you are going to sooner or later bring your loved ones down with you. They know I am happy living abroad, they know this village is not enough for me. And I keep in touch, I come home every two or three months, I text, I skype, I send postcards.

However, when I realized I had the chance to become location independent, I have definitely considered the chance of coming home more often and for longer periods of time one of the advantages of this life, compared to the limited vacations of a normal job, that most of the times I used to feed my wanderlust rather than coming back.

So, after around 10 months of more or less constant trips and adventures (and 10 years in total of living in other cities), I felt like it was a good time to spend some time here. At home, at my parents' place. In my tiny mountain village, where everyone knows me, but very few people really do.

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How does it feel to be home?

Weird. Definitely weird.
I think everyone who has lived abroad for a while can probably relate if I tell you that coming home is always a challenge. It's a "coming back", to your roots, to your identity, to a version of you that you don't really identify with any more.
It's a good thing, in some ways. It gives you some grounding, and that's what I am looking for in this time of confusion and experimentation. It gives you a starting point. It gives you room and space to think about who you really are.

Every time you travel or you move to a new place, you reinvent yourself in a way, you change, even if just slightly, the narrative you tell other people. It's not like you are telling lies, but it's normal to adapt your story to the people you have in front. There are many ways to tell the story of your life, many small or big things you choose to omit, many ways to phrase your experiences.
However, when you are back, you feel like people already know you. At least they know the person you were before leaving. The person you were before all the experiences you had, the people you met, the places you saw, shaped you in the new person you have become now. How hard is it to explain this? How much easier is it to just ignore the changes and let them think you still are that person?

This can end up undermining all you have done, all you have worked for, undermining your self confidence and making you go one step back, or many steps back.

It's hard to explain your new plans, your new ideas, your new vision and it's hard to do it without bragging about your many experiences. You see yourself through the eyes of these people and you are forced to ask yourself many questions, to fight their doubts that start to enter your mind.
When you manage to be yourself, be true to whoever you have become, be honest, don't hide behind the person you once where. That's when the magic happens. When you realize whose opinion really matters and who your real friends are. That's when you grow.

Because to grow, you need deep roots. And home is where you find them.

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Great article, thanks for sharing.