The Perplexing Concept of Home

I don’t know where I am from!

Moving van collecting our furniture for our first move — Sacramento, California, 1958, heading across the country to Louisiana. Photo from family collection.

Home is a transient concept for me. 

“Where are you from?” fills me with the immediate perplexities of the question. I never quite know how to answer. Pondering the complications – a whirlwind of thoughts and memories swirl in my head. 

Growing up as an Air Force Brat, taught me that the physicality of my roots are shallow. 

Between zero and age 12, I moved at least seven times, including 4 different states. Returning to California after 4 years in England for my senior year in high school, in which I had no vested interest other than graduating.

Movers crating our furniture for the journey home to California after 4 ½ years in England. Family photo collection.

Adulting took me back to England on my own for a year, then up and down the Pacific Northwest of the U.S. Home in America ranged from living in the foothills of Oregon’s majestic Mt Hood, to the rugged cliffs, sand, and waves of the cold Pacific Ocean as my front yard in Washington.  

The cool weather and definite seasons of Oregon and Washington are reminiscent of my teenage years in England. The Pacific Northwest wilderness and spectacular terrain embraced me in its cold magic for 17 years.

Winter in Oregon in the foothills of Mt Hood. – Photo by author

Taking my daughter to school one morning, we had to wait for a herd of elk to cross the road. Photos by author.

Recently, a 3,000 mile cross-country trek relocated me to the East Coast for a whole new adventure! Summers filled with heat and humidity, followed by interruptions of freezing nights and snow that stuck to the ground for three days last winter. Awe, memories of the Pacific Northwest. Walking barefoot through the sand as the Atlantic Ocean lapped around my feet, surprised me with its warmth. 

Moving into my South Carolina house. The endless rooms of boxes and furniture to sort and design or organize. Photos by author

On the warm beach in South Carolina. Photo from family collection.

Jets from the nearby Air Force base roar overhead on a regular basis awakening a sense of pride and fond childhood memories. A salute to my dad and the opportunities our military upbringing provided. 

Learning to love my home, no matter where it is, became a life skill, along with nurturing the art of recreating myself at every turn, thus curating an inner sense of never really belonging to any one place. I’ve often wondered how it felt to have generational roots.

The nomadic Air Force life fostered a sense of exploring the world and learning to see life through the eyes of others. Returning to Europe in 2012 after a 38-year absence, surprised me; gravity tugged through me, like roots wrapping around my soul, as I walked through the terminal in Heathrow Airport, London. I felt like a lost soul suddenly returning home. 

This was far more intense than the excitement of a long overdue trip.

Was this the feeling others get who return to their roots?

Travelling to England, Scotland, and Ireland for a brief visit last fall, walking the jetway at Heathrow this time, felt more like a peaceful sense of coming home rather than the tremendous pull that enveloped me in 2012. 

Recounting our childhood memories as my sister and I re-explored London for two days, felt like returning to our old stomping grounds, with a modern twist ticketing process for the London underground or “tube”. Do we buy Oyster cards or simply use our tap-to-pay credit cards? 

Relaxing into our seats, watching the station signs zip by, was like rolling back the years – the sense of home flooded back. Bayswater Rd, Paddington Station, and Waterloo, familiar feelings of childhood family trips to London.

Boarding the train for Scotland three days later, brought back visions of our family’s trip when I was 13-years-old.  Memories of its beauty and rugged scenery and spending a day at Loch Ness watching the researchers lowering a yellow submarine to look for evidence of Nessie, the Loch Ness monster. Thirteen-year-old me excitedly contemplated the possibilities of discoveries.

Watching the scientists search for Nessie in 1969. From family photo collection

Our great-great-grandfather emigrated to the US from the Inverness area in about 1835. Strolling through Inverness, I thought about his parents walking the same pathways, before leaving their homeland and family with their 1-year-old son, embarking on an unknown future in far off lands.

Genealogical travel explores a deeper sense of home and homeland. On a recent trip to Ireland, my focus was less on the touristy aspects of travel choosing instead, a deeper exploration of my grandfather’s home turf and reconnecting with cousins whom I hadn’t seen since 1970.

Hearing their stories about my grandfather nurtured a strong sense of family and home. Later, visiting my grandfather’s home, filled me with a sense of pride in who I was and from where we came. Pride in the courage of a 21-year-old who left his family and beloved country in 1921, for a new life far away. 

The house on the top (built for my great-grandfather about 1865) is where my grandfather grew up. On the bottom is the same house. It was sold out of the family several years ago. The top  photo was from our 1970 family reunion. The bottom photo is from my trip in 2025

For me, home is a combination of genealogical ties, family, and lifestyle. Going on base with my sister, brother-in-law, and Mum, who all have military privileges, fills me with a sense of belonging and memories of a life long ago. Even seeing a person in uniform off-base, I feel an affinity and deep respect for the military lifestyle. 

In contrast, even though I have lived most of my life in the U.S., the pull of home here has eluded me. The tug of Europe on my heart and soul is always louder. This, despite the fact that while living there as a youth, the locals considered me a foreigner. 

For me, at least, the juxtaposition of “where I am from”, or where is home, never has a solid answer.