“One never reaches home. But where paths that have an affinity for each other intersect, the whole world looks like home, for a time.”
― Hermann Hesse
Three years ago a wind storm blew into my life. I prayed I’d remain standing and not crash into myself. In a period of three months my step-daughter died from a brain tumor, I had a cancer scare, one of my closest friends ended our relationship, and my mother died.
Four unexpected events piled one on top of the other left me breathless. Over the next two years I learned how to receive the support, love and guidance I needed to breathe deeply and come back to an even stronger me. A me determined to live my one wild and precious life to the fullest.
My husband, Cradoc, and I had lived part-time in Spain for a few years. My time there felt done, but we still had a return airline ticket to use. Last May we came to Porto, Portugal, so Cradoc could get to know the city where he’d be teaching a photo workshop.
Six months ago today we came back to Porto and never left. I left behind my circle of friends, my garden and VW Vanagon. I left behind the cabin where I spent six years writing my memoir. I left behind the place I called home because I’d grown all I could there.
At sixty years old I needed something more. I needed my dream of living in Europe full time to come true. I needed to take on the challenge of life as an expat. I needed to make a new circle of friends. I needed new places to explore – both inside and out.
When something ends something new begins. The hardest part is the space in between those two things. Where a new place doesn’t quite feel like home. Where a circle of friends hasn’t yet been found. Where a language hasn’t yet been learned. But that void holds so much potential of who we might become if we’re willing to jump into the deep end of our lives.
One day soon my feet will touch the ground, and this new land will feel like home. A place where everything can begin again.
