When thinking about which country to start with as I revisit all the places I’ve been, it makes sense to start with where I came from: the United States. (Well, Portland, Oregon to be more precise; although I have also lived for shorter amounts of time in Winston-Salem, North Carolina and Brattleboro, Vermont).
I’ve had a strange relationship with my home country and, in my memory, I was first conscious of our bond (or lack thereof) during my early years of high school. I remember having conversations with friends about how it felt like we didn’t have a culture. How capitalism and corporations were destructing our society. Buildings and cities polluting the land. And how (many) of our peers were caught up in which clothes to wear and who to hang out with to make them more popular (not to say that I was completely innocent of that either). Magazines with gossip columns and articles on “how to lose weight” or “get your crush to notice you” dominated teenage girls’ bookshelves. It all felt very meaningless to me and I just wanted out. And so I went (to Ghana, but more on that another time).
At that point I had already visited Mexico and Canada with my family and was somewhat aware of a larger world and context that we lived in. I remember studying other cultures in school and flipping through my National Geographic magazines at home in awe, hoping that someday I’d get to see some of those sights. I was envious of the bright artwork, colorful foods, and lively customs of these faraway places. All I could think about the United States is that we had fast food, meat packing plants, institutionalized racism, and a flawed and faulty concept of the “American Dream.” (Okay, maybe I was a little too young then to be able to articulate these thoughts, but the ideas were there).
I probably held my most hostile and negative attitudes of my nation those early years of high school. But then I went away. And came back. And went away again. And came back again. And went away. And came back. And again. And again. And again.
All that time away made me more appreciative of my family and friends. It helped me be thankful for the comforts of home, things like running water, hot showers and electricity (and also taught me that I can live without those). Time away made me recognize the national privilege I have. It made me grateful for the cover of my passport and how that has allowed me opportunities that so many in this world won’t ever have access to (and with that privilege I’ve learned comes a responsibility). Being outside of the U.S. has made me more aware of the (sub)culture(s) I come from (yes, I learned I do come from a culture!). Traveling has made me more aware of myself and, overall, more appreciative about where I come from.
I’ve had a strange relationship with my home country and, in my memory, I was first conscious of our bond (or lack thereof) during my early years of high school. I remember having conversations with friends about how it felt like we didn’t have a culture. How capitalism and corporations were destructing our society. Buildings and cities polluting the land. And how (many) of our peers were caught up in which clothes to wear and who to hang out with to make them more popular (not to say that I was completely innocent of that either). Magazines with gossip columns and articles on “how to lose weight” or “get your crush to notice you” dominated teenage girls’ bookshelves. It all felt very meaningless to me and I just wanted out. And so I went (to Ghana, but more on that another time).
At that point I had already visited Mexico and Canada with my family and was somewhat aware of a larger world and context that we lived in. I remember studying other cultures in school and flipping through my National Geographic magazines at home in awe, hoping that someday I’d get to see some of those sights. I was envious of the bright artwork, colorful foods, and lively customs of these faraway places. All I could think about the United States is that we had fast food, meat packing plants, institutionalized racism, and a flawed and faulty concept of the “American Dream.” (Okay, maybe I was a little too young then to be able to articulate these thoughts, but the ideas were there).
I probably held my most hostile and negative attitudes of my nation those early years of high school. But then I went away. And came back. And went away again. And came back again. And went away. And came back. And again. And again. And again.
All that time away made me more appreciative of my family and friends. It helped me be thankful for the comforts of home, things like running water, hot showers and electricity (and also taught me that I can live without those). Time away made me recognize the national privilege I have. It made me grateful for the cover of my passport and how that has allowed me opportunities that so many in this world won’t ever have access to (and with that privilege I’ve learned comes a responsibility). Being outside of the U.S. has made me more aware of the (sub)culture(s) I come from (yes, I learned I do come from a culture!). Traveling has made me more aware of myself and, overall, more appreciative about where I come from.
The wide support network I have scattered across the States may not be as deep as many who have more stable roots that have been cultivated there over time. But I do have a very wide net and enough solid anchors to support me in going forward, knowing I’ll safely land if I fall. I’ve learned that the excitement of the unknown is where I am most comfortable. The unfamiliar and endless possibilities of my next steps. It is the known, the safe, and the familiar that scare me; the thought that I’ll reach a destination and won’t be able to move in a different direction.
People often ask if and when I’ll go back to the States, and I can only respond that as long as I’m happy and listen to my intuition, I will always be where I should. Events will definitely bring me back, but to say I’ll be anywhere permanently is an unlikely statement (at least in my foreseeable future). I live my life in and for experiences and my heart belongs to the world.
People often ask if and when I’ll go back to the States, and I can only respond that as long as I’m happy and listen to my intuition, I will always be where I should. Events will definitely bring me back, but to say I’ll be anywhere permanently is an unlikely statement (at least in my foreseeable future). I live my life in and for experiences and my heart belongs to the world.