Only expats will probably understand the groundbreaking turning point that happened this week:
In a conversation with a colleague from work, I said that I moved “home” instead of “moved back”. A defining moment for me. A Freudian slip. Which I should be happy about, right?
Yes, I feel more at home after starting work. But “home” is still San Francisco. Sigh. Our apartment in Copenhagen and our new summer cottage in no way feel like home, but my old workplace does. My work place is the only place that feels like home. Weird.
In the back of my mind, I’m wondering: “Do I really want to uproot my family in a few years and get even more confused about “home”?
I must be messed up, because right now – despite understanding the implications – I want to return to the U.S. for a few years.