Having already replied to this on Mastodon, I won’t repeat it. But the idea and visceral feeling of a home place (or places) is so real. Even for those of us who are — as I am — large, noisy potted plants that aren't sure what “home” means. (Seven states, three of them twice, one of them thrice, and two nations on other continents have been home at various times, and in almost all of them I’ve moved at least once within them while there. “Where are you from?” is a question that always gets a deep breath from me before I ask if they just want to know where I was born, or where I moved here from, because the fuller answer will take five minutes.)
And I know that several of the homes I lived in no longer even exist.
Such a real and important topic.
I think I may be the human analog of an air plant, maybe.
I'm a fifth generation Oregonian, and I've lived in Portland for about 37 of my 57 years. And... I've lived in 37 houses, in four states, plus modified-residency program seminary in Chicago. And...I've never lived more than 100 miles from the Ocean (though different oceans). It's a fascinating juxtaposition of rooted in place and not rooted at all. But mostly deeply rooted. I love my city, and I know it deeply. But mostly, I know the beach by my parents former home. I know the scent of dusty blackberries in August, and tidal mudflats with motor oil and gasoline. I understand scrub pine and salal.
It feels like an incredible privilege to be a parish minister, and yet so deeply rooted in place, with friendships that have lasted 40 years. I think about those questions you ask on a regular basis.
I love this topic so much, as one of those Wyoming kids who left and has never felt like I belonged anywhere else. I have moved to 4 different states over the last 25 years, and I have always felt like I am in exile. Now I stand at the crossroads of all of my kids having graduated, wondering if there is even a place for me in the Wyoming of 2025 if I was to move back.
Having already replied to this on Mastodon, I won’t repeat it. But the idea and visceral feeling of a home place (or places) is so real. Even for those of us who are — as I am — large, noisy potted plants that aren't sure what “home” means. (Seven states, three of them twice, one of them thrice, and two nations on other continents have been home at various times, and in almost all of them I’ve moved at least once within them while there. “Where are you from?” is a question that always gets a deep breath from me before I ask if they just want to know where I was born, or where I moved here from, because the fuller answer will take five minutes.)
And I know that several of the homes I lived in no longer even exist.
Such a real and important topic.
I think I may be the human analog of an air plant, maybe.
I'm a fifth generation Oregonian, and I've lived in Portland for about 37 of my 57 years. And... I've lived in 37 houses, in four states, plus modified-residency program seminary in Chicago. And...I've never lived more than 100 miles from the Ocean (though different oceans). It's a fascinating juxtaposition of rooted in place and not rooted at all. But mostly deeply rooted. I love my city, and I know it deeply. But mostly, I know the beach by my parents former home. I know the scent of dusty blackberries in August, and tidal mudflats with motor oil and gasoline. I understand scrub pine and salal.
It feels like an incredible privilege to be a parish minister, and yet so deeply rooted in place, with friendships that have lasted 40 years. I think about those questions you ask on a regular basis.
I love this topic so much, as one of those Wyoming kids who left and has never felt like I belonged anywhere else. I have moved to 4 different states over the last 25 years, and I have always felt like I am in exile. Now I stand at the crossroads of all of my kids having graduated, wondering if there is even a place for me in the Wyoming of 2025 if I was to move back.
Can I ask where you travelled and why?