This chapter of my life is brought to you by The World Race.
I think it was around the second week of Swaziland that I looked at one of my new friends and told them to meet me at home.
And that’s when it hit me.
Hard.
I no longer had a home. These people were it for me. They are my home and they will be for the next nine months of my life. Every part of me came to the realization that this was my life and I had to get used to it.
I had to remind myself that I belong here and this is always what my life was going to look like.
Then Lesotho rolled around and it was sitting under the brilliant blanket of stars that I could NOT believe that THIS IS my home. That THIS IS my life. I got used to walking up the last bit of the hike home, to run and change into my comfy H&M pants, make coffee and a PB&J, and curl up in someone else’s Eno to read Harry Potter.
Then everything changed. From Africa being my home for two months I was in India. Taking tuk-tuks through the overpopulated city I didn’t think it would ever feel like home. It was here that the concept of family hit me with the girls I was living with. With my sweet team Eliora. From sobbing on our metal beds, to sitting on the ground itching our mosquito bites, to long drives in a car blasting Taylor Swift. The sunsets over the mountains and lamplights on the highway are where I first felt home in India. Except where we lived felt like an actual prison to me. Not being able to leave, I found the freedom of running into Christ’s loving arms. My squad-mate reminded me that even though those white walls didn’t feel like a home to me they were to people. They were home to our sweet Indian friends who worked so lovingly for us. In India I felt home in my people.
Then to Nepal which is where my quick story ends for now. We live on the top floor of a four story house, its like a little apartment so it wasn’t hard to call it home. Living less than ten minutes from all the cute coffee shops and watching sunsets over the insanely gorgeous mountains from our little balcony.
The first week and a half of being here I was sick. The air ruled over my lungs and each breath felt like a fight. A fight that didn’t seem worth the homesickness I was already experiencing.
Recovery was right around the corner though, and the nights got easier. Finally able to breathe, long morning walks became normal and wrapping my toes with a blanket before sleep became a comfortable routine. Making coffee became even more exciting as my bare toes hit the cold tile ground each morning.
Just a weekend trip to Pokhara and we called our little room home as we dropped off our granola bars and face wash before heading out to yet another coffee shop.
Such a casual home. Not because we felt any comfort in our tiny hostel but because we had each other. And wherever that is, is home.
“I’ve learned a lot this year. I’ve learned that things don’t always turn out the way you planned, or the way you think they should. And I’ve learned that there are things that go wrong that don’t always get fixed or get put back together the way that they were before. I’ve learned that some broken things stay broken, and I’ve learned that you can get through the bad times as long as you have people who love you.” -Jennifer W.
Home is your people. That’s why it was so very hard for me to leave America (but beyond doable, because I knew I am coming back to them).
These people have become my home and I think it’ll be about a million times harder to leave them because there is no coming back. No house in Nepal to come back to all my sweet friends loading groceries up four flights of stairs.
We don’t get to be here long, pals. I’m beyond grateful for the time that we get to spend with our people. Our little big traveling home.
So here’s to the people that hold us when we’re sad and that celebrate the good times. Here’s to this extraordinary ordinary life 🙂
