During my first month in Exeter, I decided to continue consuming British pop culture during my free time under the title of 'cultural immersion'. There was one book in particular that had been on my list for some time: The Hobbit by JRR Tolkien. The acclaimed children's novel, not the blockbuster-budget cinematic trainwreck. Anyways, I've always been fascinated by linguistics, fantasy, and folklore, so I knew I'd enjoy it. But I never expected to identify with it. And yet, this fantastical story about a homebody hobbit named Bilbo who is forced into a harrowing quest to steal a dragon's treasure is all about identity. And many times while reading it, I've found myself thinking about how my own adventure have changed how I see myself.
Admittedly, it wasn't until recently that I could be called anything close to a homebody. When I was growing up in a conservative Midwestern suburb, I wanted anything but to be rooted. I was terrified that if I went to school in state, I would fall into the trap of moving back home and settling down into the very humdrum suburban life I was running away from. I wanted nothing more than to 'make it out' of my home town, to go to an Ivy league law school and become a globetrotting diplomat or DC lobbyist or New York public defender. I wanted excitement and adventures-- anything but home.
I realized the limitations of this attitude, to some extent, when I started my undergrad at GW and discovered my predisposition towards homesickness. However, it wasn't until I studied abroad that I truly learned what "roots" and home meant for my identity.
Maybe its no surprise, then, that the part of The Hobbit that I most identify with involve Bilbo's experiences with homesickness. At first, it's more of an irrational reactionary panic comparing the hardships of settling into a new life with the comforts of home, here illustrated by a flashback to Bilbo's favorite armchair and a singing kettle, and some iteration of "not for the last time!". The ultimate message for me was that it's okay and normal to hang on to homesickness so long as we don't allow it to control us. Eventually, we will adapt, and enjoy overcoming obstacles... or at least appreciate how they have changed our identities.
My own adventures in Europe have massively changed how I identify with where I come from. Growing up, I ached for the places I imagined. In college, I missed some of the places I had been. And now, I am beginning to understand how the places we chose to leave can feel like old friends; how identities can rooted in places as much as people; and how some futures can't be packed into a suitcase. Slowly, I am realizing how precious and integral the physical and cultural spaces of my past really are. This is even true of DC, which I was surprised to find has become my second home.
But at the same time, it's this very rootedness that will make it hard to leave Exeter. As thrilled as I am to return home to celebrate the holidays in Milwaukee later this month, there is a small part of me that has latched on to this place, that will miss the rolling green hills, the constant "sorry"s and lilting accents, the tea and cakes and fish and chips. Though I'm sure I'll use social media to stay in touch with the friends I made in Exeter, the thing that I want to preserve most is the restlessness and newness of it, the eagerness to travel and discover new wonders.
Unfortunately, my adventure is unlike Bilbo's in that it won't be rewarded with dragon's treasure... so for the time being, I'll just have to content myself with taking one afternoon every week to explore a new place in whatever city I happen to be inhabiting. Old friendships may fade, but I'm determined not to allow the spirit of my host community and adventure abroad disappear.
...After all, as a wise man once said, "not all who wander are lost."