Erie: Moving Out and Moving On

You will never be completely at home again, because part of your heart will always be elsewhere. That is the price you pay for the richness of loving and knowing people in more than one place. (Miriam Adeney)

“Where are you from?” Uh oh. I fidget a little with the blue hair tie I always wear on my left wrist. Furtively glance around to see any escape out of this dead horse of a conversation, kicked a dozen more times for good measure. But seeing nothing that resembles a quick exit, I slowly turn my almond eyes back to him.

It’s always that seemingly inoffensive question that stops me in my tracks. Should I say Erie, where I’ve spent a third of my life in (that’s a record, trust me)? Or Wuhan, where I was originally from? Or Montreal, where I’ve held the most beautiful memories? Or Lexington, where I’ve grown the most, both faith and career-wise? Should I throw London in there as well, for funsies? After all, I did spend half a year there, not much shorter than the average amount of time I’ve lived in each “home.”

Home. What a strange concept. For as long as I can remember, my family’s moved from apartment to apartment, house to house, country to country. Make new friends, stay for a while, say goodbyes. Rinse and repeat. I’ve never really think anything of it, until I grew a bit older and was able to put in words what I’ve always felt in that vaguely vacant spot of my heart. I guess, even though I had come to expect change, even though I was “used” to always moving; even so, I had longed for permanence. I too hoped for a place to come back to every holiday. Friends to catch up with on local who’s-done-what’s. A favorite spot on the beach to hold picnics on. And a trail in the woods that would evoke memories from more than a year ago.

For a while there, I thought that Erie would be it. Granted I loathed the city when we first moved. It was devoid of skyscrapers and fancy dining and working public transportation and French speakers and my EIM besties. But over the years, I’ve come to make peace with it. I’ve come to love roller-blading along the trails at Presque Isle. Eating ice cream cones at Sara’s. Trying Italian tapas at Cloud Nine with homies. Sipping raspberry beer at the Tap House after a long day of work. Somewhere along the line, coming back for Christmas and Easter grew into a familiar and celebrated affair. And the regular gatherings of the Chinese community became traditions that I could count on. For the first time, I thought how great it was that we’ve finally settled down somewhere.

I started dreaming of a future in Erie. I’d go make it big somewhere else first naturally. But eventually, I could see myself coming back and starting a family. Settling down by the lake. Sending my children to different after-school activities. Hanging at the yacht club. I would go golfing on Monday nights. And eat wings and watch movies on Tuesday nights. Wednesday nights could be spent on the beach watching the sunset, but Thursday nights would be spent downtown at the block party.

But of course life is a bitch. After seven years of providing a (false) sense of security, it once again threw our lives’ belongings into some hundreds of neatly packed cardboard boxes and U-Hauled our asses across the country. Houston, it is.

I turned introspectively to analyze my feelings about the newest uprooting and half expected dread to rise up from my stomach. But what is this? Anticipation? Delight?! Sure enough, that feeling can only be described as palpable excitement. Even though my wishes for permanence were once again sacrificed for the sake of change, I wasn’t too disturbed. Perhaps it’s because this move coincides with my imminent entry into the real world and therefore into new territory anyways. Or because I’ve finally recognized that “home” doesn’t have to be a physical place, enclosed by the four walls of a well-maintained house. I like to think that it has something more to do with the latter, as a testimony to my growing up.

One day, I still hope that “home” will come to represent a beautiful place where my husband and children are, waiting for my return. But until then, isn’t it equally beautiful that “home” can encompass so many different places, buoyed by pieces of memories scattered throughout the world? I love the aforementioned quote. Part of my heart will always be elsewhere, because I made the choice to plant it elsewhere.

“So, let me get this straight. You’re a Canadian, born in China, who now lives in the United States?” I smile. That sums it up quite nicely, I think. And who knows where else I’d end up? United Kingdom? Hong Kong? China? Back to Erie? The world is so wonderfully full of opportunities!

So to Erie, “Thnks Fr Th Mmrs.”