Home at Last

Better late than never...

Like many people, I suspect, I’ve used the word “home” very loosely during much of my life. For the first 20 years, I applied it to my parents’ house, the place where I mostly (and mostly happily) grew up. For the next decade or so, it was where ever I was living at the time (I was quite nomadic in my 20s). However, all of that was really just nomenclature - I didn’t think much about what home meant.

But as soon as my kids were born, they were definitely home to me. If I had to explain what I mean by that, I would say that being with them, loving them, supporting them felt like the place I was supposed to be, the circumstance where I fit and could be most “me.” Being their mom nourished me as I nourished them. When I was with them, I wasn’t looking for anyplace else to be.

Once I started my business in my late 30s, most everything to do with that also felt like home to me and in much the same spirit: creating, growing and and exploring the possibilities of what Proteus was and could become, supporting it to succeed, felt deeply right to me; felt like just the right thing to be standing on. As with my kids, nourishing the business felt like it also nourished me.

But also…not home

But at the same time, there were big parts of my life that didn’t feel like home to me. Increasingly, my relationship with my first husband, the kids’ dad, didn’t feel like home, and the cities or towns we lived in never really felt like home. Even the town I grew up in, Omaha, while it was perfectly nice, had never felt like home to me. Since my mom died, in 2004, I’ve only been back once to visit, for my 40th high school reunion–which was fun, but certainly didn’t feel like home.

And then, about ten years ago, I began to realize that the US wasn’t really feeling like home to me anymore, either. I didn’t feel like I fit with where the country was going, what it had become. To put it quite simply, a country that could choose someone like the current president was not the place for me.

The only good outcome of that first election was that it made me think more about the concept of home. What was home to me? And how could I feel more at home in every aspect of my life?

A good place to start

Fortunately, by that time I had already found and married my beloved Patrick, who has felt 100% like home to me since the day we met in 2009. I feel entirely safe, supported and content in our relationship: it’s the nest from which I fly.

Having that, him, as a daily example has been extraordinarily helpful: whenever I’m in a new place, or meet a new person, or try something new, I can ask “Does this feel like home?” and I have something present and practical to compare it to.

That’s how we ended up in Asturias, in northern Spain. We visited the first time, 9 years ago, because I was starting to learn Spanish, and wanted to vacation in a place I could practice. I had read a few articles about the Costa Verde - green coast - of Spain that really interested me; it sounded very different from the more beachy, touristy south of Spain that most Americans know. Then I read a few other articles specifically about Asturias: mountains and sea, green and rainy; celtic, ancient, mysterious. We were in.

And we both fell in love pretty much the moment we arrived. We came back the next summer, and the next (and that summer, 2019, we rented a big house and invited our kids, their spouses, and the grandkids to come, too).

During the pandemic, we found ourselves missing Asturias a lot. When we returned in December of 2021, we fell in love all over again - and decided to buy a small apartment in the capital city of Oviedo so we could spend more time here…it wasn’t quite home yet, but it was moving in that direction.

It took another year or so for us to look at each other and say “this is home.” In 2023 we applied for a long-stay visa, which we got in March of 2024 (I may be the oldest digital nomad in Spain). Over the following year, we sold our house in the US, and bought our “forever” apartment in Oviedo - the place where we plan to stay until we either die or move to a residencia (when/if living on our on doesn’t work any more).

Fully home

And now, I’m pleased to say, I feel completely at home. Patrick, our apartment, Oviedo, Asturias, España, our community of friends here - both Spanish and immigrant/expat. Even the Spanish language is beginning to feel like home to me: I love how it feels in my mouth, and how easy it is to be poetic, or emotional, or funny in Spanish. I love how it sounds to hear everyone talking as I’m walking around the city. I love the cadence of our lives; how we spend our days. I love how much I walk, and my yoga classes, and the concerts and lectures we attend. I feel deeply befriended and supported by my friends and love the time we spend together.

And to my great good fortune, my kids still feel like home to me, as do all the grandchildren. And an unlooked-for joy: my “acquired” daughter, Patrick’s Kate, and her family feel like home to me as well. Proteus still feels like home, too - though I’m more like a proud parent watching the next generation grow and evolve it, and helping where I’m invited to help.

And I wonder…

Does home become more important, more necessary for everyone as they age, or is this particular to me? Do we get clearer about what feels like home to us as we have more experience of home/not home, and can we choose better? Or again, is this just a me thing?

I’d really love to hear your experience of home: Is it important to you? Something you think about often? A state you look for? Or is your experience completely different from mine? Please, share if you like…