Home – A Word That Travels With Us

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Prologue – A Word That Travels With Us

What does home mean?

As I think about that question, we are sitting on the plane on our way back from Nice. Beneath us, clouds. Ahead of us, Hamburg. Somewhere in between, this old question that returns with every journey.

Home.

A small word.

And yet not one you can easily hold on to.

People say: Home is the best place to be. Or: Home is where the heart is. Lovely sayings. But what do they really mean?

Every year, many people lose their homes, while others leave them by choice. Some return. Some never do.

Perhaps home is therefore less a place than a hope.

It Used to Be Easier

We moved often – not out of restlessness, but because life asked it of us. New places, new homes. And most of the time, I felt: I have arrived.

Even our house by the lake – our dream house – was more of a weekend place than the center of daily life. During the week, we functioned elsewhere. On weekends, we returned. And somehow, it still felt right.

Perhaps because I could settle in quickly. Because familiarity was never tied only to walls. I carried much of what made a home within me. Sometimes lighter, sometimes heavier. But always with me.

“Home is what you take with you, not what you leave behind.”

— N.K. Jemisin

Houses change. Memories move with us.

Traveling in Search of Something

When we travel, we leave home behind. And yet, along the way, we often search for exactly that again: the feeling of arriving.

For Reinhold and me – in this, we are remarkably alike – travel was never just a vacation. It was always curiosity, movement, the joy of discovering. And yes: perhaps also a certain restlessness.

For years, we have tried to calm that restlessness a little. To free ourselves from the feeling that we always need to be somewhere else. With limited success.

Between House and Hedge

Today, it feels different.

We gave up our house. The children live abroad. And somehow, we have landed somewhere in between.

For the moment, we live here: practical, orderly, let’s say… almost age-appropriate.

A new development. Everything new. Everything close. Children’s voices. Barking dogs. Friendly neighbors.

None of it is wrong. But much of it does not feel like ours.

We always lived more quietly – more freely, more individually, with more space. Life here is denser. And sometimes louder than suits us.

You can own keys, sign contracts, paint walls – and still not feel at home.

A Clear Realization

The other day, over coffee, Reinhold said: “I wouldn’t want to die here.”

I simply nodded. Not dramatic. Just honest.

You can have a house and still feel like a stranger. And you can be in a place that was never meant to be forever – and know: This is right for now. But not forever.

Epilogue – What Is Enough

Perhaps home needs less than I once believed. No perfect address. No final place.

Perhaps it is born not where everything is perfect, but where you feel seen and meant to be.

A feeling is enough.

A person by your side.

And that one moment when you realize:

Nothing is missing.

Even if a dog is barking outside.

More reflections from the series “Life Between Journeys” can be found 👉 here.