AMSTERDAM, THE NETHERLANDS — No matter how many times I find myself leaving this place, I seem to always find my way back again sooner than I thought. As if there is a part of me I left there and just can’t ever seem to find.
You read it right: our days are numbered. At least as expats. At least this time around. In September, we’ll pack up, tuck our tails between our legs (literally for Addie) and make our way home. “Dahoam is’ dahoam,” as the Bayerisch people say. Nothing beats it. Nothing except leaving for a while and finding your way back.
But where is this “home” really?
In my heart, there are many places I feel home, spread across the world.
Chicago is HQ, my heart, my rock of course. Munich and St. Louis split the pot for second-home status. But there are little parts of me I can’t seem to collect from places like Paris, like Istanbul, like Sardinia, like Amsterdam.
So be it. If being home means returning to Chicago, it can also mean returning to these other places that my soul feels comfy.
And while I know this won’t be the last time here, it may be just enough time for that “kleines Heimweh” to set in again.