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The Trepidatious Trip
They say you can’t go home again
Martin Heidegger said that we are thrown into the world. We did not choose where we were born, and we weren’t given a travel guide or an instruction manual on how to be there.
Nevertheless, that place into which each one of us was thrown was our first home. For some of us, it was a precarious home, for some of us, it had the expectation that it was an anchorage — a stable base to which we could always return.
What is home? Is it where we were born? The place where we felt most comfortable? Or is home not a place at all, but with the people with whom we feel most connected? I wonder, not just as a philosopher, but as a person for whom the feeling of home has changed a number of times.
When Home Is No Longer Home
I was born in the United States. It’s “home,” but it’s not. It’s where I grew up, but it’s the country I left in 2012 to pursue my PhD and other opportunities. After over 12 years of living and working in Europe, I have to say I’m increasingly preferring Europe.
Things have changed in the US recently. I’m sure you’ve noticed. As a result, my relationship to the US has changed from “I prefer it here in Europe” to “I’m safer here in Europe.”
