"What's in a Home?"

As Shakespeare once asked...

San Francisco will always be home for me. I was born and raised here, my family lives here, and I know how to drive on the right side of the road. Literally. Sydney has become a new home for me over the last year. I have friends, a job, a gym membership, and even a rewards card at my local grocery store.

However, since the almost-empty Boeing 777 touched down at SFO three-and-a-half weeks ago, I’ve been on an emotional journey. Joy, guilt, comfort, and longing have gripped my entire being. Being back in the neighborhood I grew up in, I felt as if I’d never left. My childhood bedroom still dons the purple walls I painted myself years ago. The meaning of home is somewhat literal.

One of the main reasons I came back was to have a proper American Thanksgiving. I missed it last year as I had just arrived in the Land Down Under, and while I love everything about that country, they don’t have an entire day dedicated to giving thanks and eating turkey. I know, how dare they? Regardless, the activity I most associate with this time of year is making apple pie with my dad, a tradition that dates back at least 10 years. As we peeled apples and prepared the pie crust by hand, Christmas music playing in the background, we chatted about life. The smell of a perfectly flaky, buttery crust and sweet cinnamon sugar apples filled the kitchen. I took one deep breath in and smiled. This is home.

I organized gatherings with friends and family, and even had chance encounters with people I haven’t seen in years. I went to Shabbat services at my old synagogue, my second home growing up, and caught up with my favourite clergy. Warmth, comfort, and joy filled my being with each interaction.

There is no question San Francisco is home, in all senses of the word. But as I told and retold the story of my life in Sydney, I realized how much of a home I’ve created for myself. Subconsciously, I found myself saying “when I go home”, talking about Sydney. To others, it was surprising, but to me it felt natural.

A wise man once told me: “Home is where the heart is.” You can make a home for yourself anywhere as long as you are at peace with yourself. As someone who struggles holding two places that feel like home, I do my best to keep this in mind as I sit on the plane back to Sydney, guilt, uncertainty, gratitude, and excitement form one huge knot in my stomach. It’s okay, I tell myself, just let yourself feel.

I wave goodbye to San Francisco, and fall asleep dreaming of my return to the land of Flat Whites and Vegemite.

See ya back in the Southern Hemisphere!