The Immigrant's Limbo

**WARNING contains me, gross generalizations about whole nations of people, chases and escapes, and some thoughtful rambling.**

I have been working a post about British summer fairs/fetes on and off for a month or so, but with other writing and reading commitments I haven't been able to finish it. Also, summer ended unceremoniously about two weeks ago here in England and that sort of takes the joy out of a summer post. I'll save it for next year because I need to move on and definitely need to post something!

Meanwhile, I went home to America for three weeks and when I returned to the UK the refugee crisis slapped me around the head and heart for awhile. So instead I find myself thinking about "going home" and thinking about the reasons people choose to be immigrants as well as how unfathomably lucky I am via the accident of my birthplace not to be a refugee. Note I am not using those terms interchangeably. I have immigrated, chasing travel and culture. Syrians are refugees fleeing death.

Going "home" to where my parents live is not like going home for most people. I have not lived in the state of my birth since I was nine years old. For thirty years now (AHHHH!!!!), heading to the homeland is a vacation, always a temporary experience.

My "heart home", as a friend calls it, is in and around Chapel Hill, North Carolina where I went to most of high school. I have come and gone from the CH area at least six times since I graduated high school, most recently I lived in nearby Raleigh for eleven years with my now husband. I had two kids there. My oldest friends are all there or call it home. It's the reason James Taylor songs sometimes make me weepy.

This past trip to America, the fam and I all went to Raleigh for a week and it is the longest I've been in my HH (heart-home, you remember the previous paragraph, right?) since moving to England. I was worried before the visit that I was just going to spend the whole time crying; mourning this place I love, the people there that I love even more, and the life I had there. It was a surprise not to feel that way. I think there are two main reasons why I didn't, but I reserve the right as I go on to have those two reasons turn into three or four, so don't get too attached to those numbers.

One, after two weeks in America the sprawl was waring on me. Seriously y'all, we have a problem with too many things and being far and no one driving with any kind of sense. British drivers are simply better than us.* They rarely talk on the phone or text while driving. And while I may not know where/which shops to get things in here in England, when I figure it out, the shop will have the thing and I will not have search to endlessly in a cavern of goods all screaming "BUY ME!" and "You know you need more!"

Also, when we were in Raleigh my partner worked and I partly did my old routine with my kids. It felt comfortable and familiar, not unlike visiting my home town in Georgia. I know where the fun stuff is, the tasty food, and I can get from point A to point B without satnav. I struggled a little with not being able to do everything I wanted or see everyone I could have, but it wasn't overwhelming. We didn't have anyone to babysit, so people came to see us in the evenings as well. Sitting at a kitchen table chatting with friends was lovely and exactly the way I wanted to spend time with people. But it's also so familiar that it was hard to feel sad about not being able to do it anytime I want.

An unexpected thing happened too. When people implied or directly asked if I was unhappy or dissatisfied living England - I got defensive. Like I was all "it's so beautiful, I can't complain" and "where we are, the pace is a little slower and I like that" or "the tea really is so much better." I know that I partly reacted this way because I don't like people pitying me and I also don't want anyone getting the idea that I came to the UK to make my partner happy and have no agency. Cos that ain't so. I am lonely here. A lot. But America felt icky in more ways than the ninety plus degree heat with ridiculous humidity.

When I have lived abroad in the past, coming back to the US took adjusting to. After Tblisi, it was the whole "I'm really a grown up" thing (hahaha). After China, I stood WAY too close to people all the time and had anxiety attacks in the grocery store. Now I find coming back to America, even to The South wherein I really treasure people's friendliness, kind of slaps me in the face with commercialism and go-go and consumerism. It is, in a word, Aggressive. When you are IN a culture, you get desensitized. You perceive standing with your nose touching the head of the person in front of you as the norm. And in America, we have accepted a high level of obnoxious advertising and media invading our lives. We reward pushy people. And now I find that it sparks at the back of mind in a way that is annoying/tiring over time.

None of this is to say I dislike America. Nor is England some sort of Utopia. My oldest got back and was saying "hello" to everyone we passed in the street because that's what we do in Georgia. I felt bad that he wasn't getting the same charming attention in the UK as he had in the US. People in the UK don't give good hugs, at least they don't give them to me very often.

At the end of the day, this is what it is like to immigrate (by choice) somewhere. Going back and forth between cultures and feeling neither is quite right anymore. It's like after you have a baby and even though you've lost your baby weight your old clothes don't fit right. Your body has experienced a shift that loss of pounds cannot restore. You have to wrap yourself in something new and learn how to be comfortable in your freshly renovated body.

So here I am back in England. And it felt nice to come back to my house with my things in it. To be with my little family and not have to share ourselves or our time. The temperatures were of course a relief. Winding green lanes were once again novel and lovely; after I stopped being terrified of being on the wrong side. Again. And I realize that living in England has moved my inner tectonic plates. Change has come again to my random and twisty life. Loneliness has led me focusing more on my writing. Friendships are dearer, near and far. The slower pace (no really all this travel and stuff is actually slower) that my day to day has taken on is mostly a good thing. And seriously, the tea and cake are pretty spectacular.

Nobody panic though. I'm not applying for citizenship and I'm still disinclined to garden. There's iced tea in my fridge and sweet potatoes in my pantry.

*I am ignoring all white van drivers, you know who you are.