I often find myself wishing I could live multiple lives simultaneously. One would play out in a bustling city, brimming with cosmopolitan buzz and convenience. Another would gently unfold in a quiet, coastal village lined with olive groves, vineyards and fig trees. I’d live another in the mountains, skiing in the winter and singing songs from the Sound of Music in the summer. A fourth might transpire on an island. A fifth on a sailboat. And one would have to take place in Mongolia. I don’t know why. I’ve just always been fascinated by Mongolia.
In a way, the past 12 years of travelling the world has allowed me to live all these lives. Perhaps not simultaneously but consecutively and in small, intense doses. I’ve been privileged to pause for weeks or months at a time in giant cities and tiny villages, in the mountains and by the sea, in polar latitudes and tropical climes. By letting go of the idea of one permanent home, all possibilities opened up to me. ‘Where do I want to live now?’ I would ask myself at the end of each adventure. It was freeing and inspiring to belong completely to the world and I was in no rush to settle down.
Nevertheless, a yearning for a more stable existence eventually surfaced. I wanted more. I wanted to have a community, to sink my teeth into bigger projects, take better care of myself, make plans for the weekend and have more than four pairs of shoes at my disposal. I wanted to go home but I didn’t know where that was. I had left Perth over a decade earlier, assuming I would never live there again. Twenty three years had seemed enough time to live in one place. Now it was time to figure out where the next chapter of my life would unfold.
To each and every place I went, from the Americas to Europe and the Poles, I paid close attention to how it made me feel; to whether it drew me in. I thought of the friends who’d told me their homecoming stories. One Australian friend stepped onto the tarmac in Italy and just knew she had arrived home. A Canadian friend from Winnipeg caught his first glimpse of British Columbia, declared it to be ‘God’s Country’ and never left.
As for me, that feeling never really came. While some places left more of an impression than others, I had little trouble finding my feet wherever I landed. At least for the short term. As for a long-term home, that proved more complicated. Each city and town I visited had its pros and cons; its charms and its faults. Nowhere was perfect and yet everywhere was perfect in its own unique way.
For a while there, I thought my career might choose my home/s for me. I would live a few years here and a few years there, following new job opportunities as they arose. But I came to realise that my creative and intellectual interests couldn't fit under one title or position. The thought of letting a job dictate where I lived began to make less and less sense. Love was another factor I thought might seal the deal. I figured I’d bump into a bloke during my travels and we’d choose a place to call home together. Alas, my dream man has been too busy being amazing and wonderful to bump into me just yet.
Finding my home proved a bit of a process, as you can probably tell. In the end, it came about as a series of realisations rather than one big ‘aha’ moment. But if there was one moment when the penny dropped—when a gentle shift helped me see what was most important to me—it happened in 2015 while I was spending the summer writing my PhD thesis in Split, Croatia.
I know I’ve talked all your ears off about Croatia but if I haven’t described Split to you, and why I love it, please allow me the pleasure. Split is Croatia’s largest coastal city, nestled between the island-filled Adriatic Sea and the Dinaric Alps. Its heart is an ancient palace of marble and stone, once frequented by Roman Emperor Diocletian. Today it’s a bustling hub of cafes, restaurants and open-air markets and spills out into the wide, palatial Riva (riviera). My typical day in Split that summer started with a sunrise run and swim before locking myself away during the hottest part of the day to write up a storm. At sunset, I would emerge again to stroll the palace’s narrow alleyways or perch myself on the Riva and watch ferries come and go. Every few weeks, I ventured 80 kilometres north to my parents’ hometown to be entertained and overfed by aunts, uncles and cousins. Days later I’d return, wielding heavy bags of fresh produce and Dalmatian prosciutto, all homegrown and cured.
I hardly need explain, then, why I began looking into real estate in Split. I quickly learned that the house a few doors down from me, an old, stone fixer-uperer, was on the market for a reasonable price. I wasted no time in meeting with bank managers, builders and government officials. I researched interest rates, ordered ownership papers, sketched floor plans and got quotes for replacing the ceiling and floors. It was an insightful journey into real estate, home restoration and Croatian bureaucracy, one that convinced me that owning a home in the smack bang centre of Split would be a mighty undertaking but a completely viable one. I got into the habit of taking my morning coffee out into the courtyard, sitting on the front step of that old, stone house and imagining it was mine. I liked the feeling that stirred inside me when I sat on that step. It felt cosy and reckless and romantic.
It also felt isolating and it took me a while to understand why. After all, I was in a decent-sized European city with great internet, an airport, lots of expats and my extended family just up the road. I should have felt perfectly placed. What was missing, I finally realised, was my immediate family—my parents and siblings. Sure, my sister was just across the Adriatic in Italy, less than an hour’s flight away. And I told myself that if I owned a home in Croatia my parents and brother would come more often from Australia. Maybe if I started the trend, they would all, one by one, come live in Croatia with me. It’s a nice idea, one we have entertained for years, but it’s never going to happen. If I was moving to Croatia it was with the understanding that my immediate family would be spread across three different countries. It didn’t feel right. I love Croatia. It tugs at my heart strings like few places ever have or will. But my home, I realised, is wherever the majority of my family is. My home is Perth.
Since moving back, I’ve been busy finding my feet. Perth may be my hometown but that hasn’t made this a totally smooth transition. All of my professional networks lie elsewhere in the world and so do most of my friends. I am wrapped in the warmth and familiarity of family and life-long family friends but I’m just at the beginning of building a life here that resonates with the person I’ve become after all these years away. Like any and all of the places I’ve called home, the key to finding my people and my place has been to put myself out there—to be open to new experiences, opportunities and relationships, and see what sticks. In the meantime, I’m enjoying the experience of seeing Perth in old and new ways—through lenses of nostalgia and of new beginnings too.
My return to Perth marks the distinct closing of a circle and for this reason it seems right to bring WTWIA to an end. I made WTWIA twelve and a bit years ago in my bedroom and here I am again, in my bedroom, putting it to bed. Just because WTWIA is finishing up doesn’t mean my travels will. Travel is still one of my most favourite ways of understanding myself and the world around me, and of running a colourful and carefree muck. There seem to be more entries on my ‘places to go’ list today than when I started out. Many of them are places I have already been. On the other hand, there is no one place in the world that I absolutely, positively must see before I die. I’m happy and grateful for all that I’ve seen and experienced of the world. Anything from here is a bonus.
Before I sign off, I’d like to thank you for being part of the WTWIA journey, whether you’ve been with me from the beginning or have only recently tuned in. Your hellos, friendly updates and words of encouragement have offered me great company along the way. Thanks also to those of you who shared parts of the physical journey with me. Many of you generously hosted me and became my tour guides, shared a cabin, an adventure, a meal or fuel costs with me, got me to the airport on time, texted to make sure I arrived safely or gave me some wise advice at just the right moment. I hope our paths will cross again in the not-too-distant future and that I’ll be able to offer you and your loved ones the same courtesies that you extended to me.
Until then, take care my friends and please remember to follow your heart. Follow it through adventure and adversity, through love and heartbreak, through fear and doubt. Follow it to the edges of the world and follow it back home again.
d. Xx.
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| At Home: Christmas Day 2016, one of those rare and precious occasions when my parents, siblings, brother-in-law, nieces and I are all in the same country at the same time. |
