Today, I talked to a high school friend who is Dubai on business. Not long ago, she was in New Zealand, and before that she lived in Scotland for some time. It struck me that we have become very international… not a new realization, of course, just more pronounced with age.
Remember when home used to be a generational tradition?
I stayed very close to home, in Bucharest, for twenty years. We traveled to the beach — a couple of hours by train — and to nearby towns to see relatives, but that was it.
Straying too far seemed unnecessary. Crazy, even. Everyone was there, everything we needed was there. Why go anywhere else? Yes, we had strict traveling restrictions, but I don’t think that mattered much at that point. We were curious, sure, but distance can be at once scary and interesting.
Over the years, I crossed oceans and continents, and gotten as far away from ‘home’ as one can get. I now live some 7000 miles away from Bucharest.
While the world is home, there’s something to be said about where the heart is, and how that feeling changes over the years. Part of the essence of ‘home’ is our ability to feel comfortable, to fit in. For the sound of laughter and smell of cooking to make us whole.
Venturing far from such comforts can produce as much joy as full-blown anxiety. My friend in Dubai is looking forward to returning home, although it took her a few seconds to determine where that is (still Bucharest, for now), until next month, when her company is sending her to Beijing.
So, what is the farthest you have ever traveled from home?
Image courtesy: practicingtravel.com