Home is where the heart is. At least that’s what “they” say. You know who “they” are, the ubiquitous “they”. I rarely trust what “they” say, “they” have lead me wrong on numerous occasions.
Here’s a picture of my friend, we went on a hike today. She is getting ready to go back to Russia. As Americans, we don’t really understand why someone would want to live in Russia, especially a Russian who has left and become an American citizen. My friend wants to return. She came here nearly 20 years ago and her heart stayed in Moscow. She returned to Russia a few times, but not for the long haul. Now, she is making the choice to go home for good. She will return to the U.S., but not for the long haul. She wants to stay with her heart, to be a complete person.
My friend recounted a recent visit to see her dad, “I got off the plane, I smelled the dirt, I heard the traffic, and I was home. It made me very happy.” The majority of her friends and family are in Moscow, her deep down understanding of life comes from there.
I understand the love of a place. I am home in Incline Village, here at Lake Tahoe. I love to travel, yet my heart resides in the mountains, close to my lake. I often wonder if I could move forever, bringing my heart with me to the new place. I like to think so. I like to think of myself as flexible, that home is wherever I am. I left once, spent a few years away, and enjoyed it. When the opportunity came to move back, I returned to Tahoe without hesitation. Would I leave to follow my daughter if she settles elsewhere? Would my heart come with me? I think it would. Home for me is a place, it is also the people. I bet if my friend’s people were here, Moscow’s dirt and traffic would have less appeal. Perhaps that’s the American talking.
It looks like “they” are right this time. Home really is where the heart is.