Where is home?

Last week I was asked how I feel living in Prague - if it feels like home. It's something I've been reflecting on a bit recently. Because, yes, it feels like home, in the sense that it's my daily life, where my flat is, my bed is, my work and friends who honestly probably know me better than most of my friends in PA do now. At the same time, PA is home because it's where my family is, the place I grew up. The place where everything is familiar, I understand the customs and know where to buy random items like ribbon or how the post office system works.

So I have two homes.

Or do I have no home?

Because I experience a tension (as do probably most foreigners in a culture not their own) between what was and what is and where I feel established and at peace.

PA is beginning to feel less and less like home. Where my parents live, yes. It's my childhood home and the comfort there won't change. But going to the States this past summer, I found myself wandering around stores no longer knowing where to find things. New stores pop up. I have no concept of what current movies are or how in the world to pay someone through an app. I feel out of touch with people and what's happening in their lives, other than an occasional glimpse on facebook (and that's real life, as we all know 😄) and many have no concept of what my life is really like. 

And on this side of the ocean, this culture is different. It's still a foreign culture and a foreign language and will always carry some heightened tension because it's not what I've known my whole life. New situations carry some stress because I don't know how it will function (every time I visit a doctor, for example), and even some routines are stressful because I can easily get flustered if I don't understand well. So I often feel a little bit out of place and not competent in what should be routine. 

Sometimes I even feel completely helpless... and yes, this could also happen in the States, but it's a whole different level when you can't make yourself understood well. Let me give you an example:

 Last week I was able to spend a day in the mountains to ski. Generous friends loaned me their car and I went alone, because I desperately needed some time out of the city and time not thinking about everything that piles on when I'm at home. I found a place to stay for one night and took off - looking forward to time away in nature, time to clear my mind in the limited time I had. And it was nice - a peaceful drive, an hour testing whether I could actually manage on skis without seriously hurting myself before the sun set (I've only done this once before), quiet time in a room with only my journal and a book ... until the next morning when (and I'm a bit embarrassed to admit this, but it's part of the story) I got the car stuck in snow. Not a big deal, right? Except that I tried everything I could think of to dig out and get some traction under the tires. I tried knocking at a nearby house with no answer. Several people were walking by on their way to rent skis and I asked them all for help and got turned away each time, with a cheerful "Hezky den" (Have a nice day) from one woman as they walked past my obviously stuck car (and having just told them 10 minutes before that I couldn't get out and could they help?) I went back to the shop where I had rented skis from a rather unfriendly man, and tried to explain the situation... could he please help me? No, no. He wasn't dressed for going out and had to go out to the ski trails. Sorry.  And so I walked away in tears, at a complete loss, feeling utterly helpless and alone.  Because what do you do in a foreign culture, foreign language, less ability to communicate well what you need, and no concept of how this works? Who would I even call to pull me out, if needed? I had in general thought that Czechs were somewhat helpful (even if reserved and cautious) people. In the moment I was no longer believing it (and no offense to my Czech friends... I do believe that Czechs do help others in need). I called the friend who loaned me the car, but of course she's an hour and a half away with no means of doing anything. I wasn't expecting anything other than for at least someone to hear me and be with me emotionally, if not physically, which she could thankfully provide. And said if there's no other way, maybe call the police. 

I do have to say, in all of this, I wasn't despairing about getting the car out - I knew one way or another something would work. It was more the aloneness and helplessness that felt overpowering. And the fact that I wanted to spend a day enjoying the snow and nature and instead I was trying to figure out how to dislodge a vehicle. But it was a very apparent reminder that this country is not my home. In the US, I could have at least communicated better. Found a phone number. Maybe been able to recruit help if I could explain exactly what I needed. 

This is an extreme example, but this "this is not my home" feeling happens more often than I would like, in various circumstances. Sometimes by surprise. When you get yelled at for taking pictures in a store when you didn't realize it was prohibited. When employees in public service roles are unfriendly and unhelpful because they don't like dealing with foreigners who don't understand. When you go to the hairdresser and come out with something different than what you anticipated because while you thought you explained well, apparently you didn't (and weren't aware of what the stylist was doing, so you couldn't stop him. Yes, this also happens when language is common, but the fact that language contributed to miscommunication is frustrating).  Do I laugh or cry? Depends on the day. I want to be the kind of woman who can laugh every time. Shake my head and admit that it's part of life and it doesn't say anything about who I am. But I confess that sometimes the helplessness and vulnerability overtakes me. 

I don't mean for this to sound all negative. While having 2 homes and yet no place that truly feels like home can be challenging, I do appreciate my life. I have friends on various continents. Friends here who teach me another way of thinking. The wonder of being able to live in another culture and communicate to a decent extent. Knowing the accomplishment of managing phone conversations in Czech (phone conversations are the worst) or where I can buy kernel popcorn (surprisingly not so common). I am often in awe that I have the privilege of living in this beautiful city. Amidst the challenges, God is overwhelmingly gracious and generous.

And ultimately, my home is not of this world. I have a fantastically better home to look forward to - and it will truly be home.