On Existential Migration, Home, Leaving, and Scaring Yourself Silly
One day, not so long ago, when we were still in the exhausting throes of impenetrable visa applications and living out of two battered China Post boxes, partly in my parents’ basement and partly in the little house in the big woods where I grew up (the one heated only by a cast iron wood stove and by the fury of my frenzied baking), the man I recently married posed a rhetorical question that I’ve been trying to answer ever since.
It went something like this:
What were we thinking when, upon hearing that we were going to have a baby in the new year, we quit our jobs, gave up our flat, sold or gave away most of our possessions, left our friends in Shanghai, and moved halfway around the world (again), with the intention of going on a chronologically and geographically undefined road trip down to Mexico, followed by a vague job search that would land us somewhere in the world just in time for the baby to be born?
And then, in a sudden burst of pragmatism, why did we do an about-turn and decide to move to the UK (where he’s from but where he hasn’t lived in years), with no idea where we would go, where we might live or where there was even work to be had, with just our 30kg luggage allowance worth of possessions to start with?
And why did neither of these options strike us as odd in any way, especially given that your average late-30-something with a non-accidental baby on the way would generally expect to have a steady job or a flat of their own (with furniture!) or at the very least a city to call home, long before the third trimester hits? My pregnancy app kept nagging me to start decorating the nursery at a time when we didn’t even know where we were going to be in the world in a few months.
Good questions.
One short answer that he voiced afterward was this: Given who we are, and how we have lived our lives up until now, would we have had it any other way?
Er, no.
Which is why, when Fiona of Nanchang Lu fame posted a link on Facebook to a PhD dissertation by Canadian psychotherapist Greg Madison about something the writer had termed ‘existential migration’, I started thinking about it even more.
The main thrust of it is that some of us leave home because of (and I’ll quote Fiona here because she summarized it more succinctly than I could) ‘a deep and intrinsic existential pull to do so, much deeper than wanderlust or the desire to travel.‘
Or in thesis man’s words, ‘..these voluntary migrants are seeking greater possibilities for self-actualizing, exploring foreign cultures in order to assess their own identity, and ultimately grappling with issues of home and belonging in the world generally.‘
If there’s one thing that this year has brought up repeatedly in my thoughts, it’s the intertwined concepts of home, of belonging, of identity. There’s nothing like completely destroying and rebuilding your life, thousands of miles from your homeland and family, to make you think about stuff like that. Throw a rather sudden imminent-kid and husband into the mix (two things that are usually emotionally and intellectually synonymous with stability, groundedness, home) and the thinking becomes a lot more immediate.
One line in the text resonated here: “Migration would be a multifaceted act of self-protection, self-expression, and self-worth: a valuing of my mysterious self, my uncertain life, my being.”
In reply to Fiona’s post, there were a number of really thoughtful responses from quite a few people I knew back in China, mostly women who had felt that same irrational tug, that same base need to just get up and leave, to throw themselves into the elsewhere. Some had been compulsively on the move since their early 20s (like me), while others had only recognized (or acknowledged) this need much later in life. What they all expressed was that a life many would find disturbingly unstable, peripheral, lonely, disjointed and just plain old frightening had fulfilled something very intangibly necessary inside them.
A repeated theme was: I had no choice. It had to be this way.
This was my eventual reply, written after reading and thinking about the others’ reactions:
One thing I keep coming back to in my own expattery (and which also links to my choices in friends and partners, strangely enough) is that I am better able to see myself for who I really am only when placed in juxtaposition with somewhere (or someone) which is in many key ways very different to me. Places that force me to bring out aspects of myself that I am maybe reluctant to acknowledge or develop or which I wasn’t even aware of.
I noticed this most when I went home to Canada for 3 months this autumn, waiting for my UK visa to be processed. I found myself retreating inwardly, the lack of external friction or challenge allowing me to slip into a very pleasant but slightly dreamy velvet rut. By the second month, I started having little daydreams about getting an easy little job and a nice little house and slipping into small town Canadian rhythms for the next, oh, 40 years…. Nothing would ever have to change and there was no momentum to force it to.
Recently, I have been rereading old (2004-2009) journal entries from my Turkey/leaving Turkey era and there was constant daily stress, constant invasion of personal space, of personal values and desires, but it all seemed to push me forward toward creating a more clearly defined self than the soft easiness of home ever could. I’m thinking metaphors like oysters making pearls by reacting to the irritation of invasive bits, or diamonds not being able to be polished with just a soft cloth.
The places I’ve been propelling myself into for the past 20 years have all irritated the hell out of me, but have also inspired me and brought out aspects that I never knew existed. Same with my friends and chosen loved ones- I choose to surround myself with non complacent, often difficult, demanding, inspiring people who have high expectations of themselves and of others. No velvet rut allowed.
We’ve got a baby coming in about 10 weeks and there’s still no nursery on the horizon. About two weeks ago, we flew into Gatwick airport with just our allotted 30kg of luggage and no real defined idea of what would come next. Now that we are temporarily nestled gently in the folds of rural Leicestershire’s rolling hills and narrow hedgerow’d lanes and quiet village sensibilities, preparing for the next version of our lives (the one with a flat, furniture, a job, a baby, and -for me- a newish city in a sort of new country), I find myself absently thinking ahead of myself, looking beyond the immediate future and immediate surroundings, wondering, where’s next? Who will I get to be after this?
Force of habit, I suppose.
For now, I’m busy looking around me to see what pearls can be formed here that couldn’t be formed in any of my previous homes. The possibilities are out there and it’s rather exciting.
Yes, there’s something about difficult places! Today I wrote to a friend:
“Beijing is hell in the winter, lovely the rest of the year. It is a city which has begun to teach me patience along with some of its language, and though there are days when driving home is like a smack in the face, I think there is a lot more for it to teach me.”
Ebriel recently posted..Silk Road Papers
Exactly! I think that’s what kept me in Shanghai so long, well beyond the point where maybe I should have left. Every year I kept making just enough changes to make me think that this time I’d finally find that magic combination of China and me that would open up something amazing. And in a weird way it kind of did. It certainly hasn’t been a wasted half decade.
There used to be a time when I believed I would find the right place to stay and call it home, wherever that was. But over the years, in a bunch of countries and a dozen cities, I’ve found that where I am isn’t half as important as what I’m doing there. It takes quite a while to get under the skin of a place. Often, the places I enjoy the most are great for holidays but aren’t where I can work on long-term goals.
When I first ran into the Existential Migration dude, his theories resonated with me a lot. But I’ve come to terms with the restlessness a bit more since then, and his theories now sound self-indulgent. Just like any itch that wants to be scratched (say, when I look at a hot guy) I turn back to where I’m headed and say, “Maybe in another lifetime, or another decade if I’m still craving it, but not just because I want it, not right now.”
Ebriel recently posted..Silk Road Papers
I’m still not sure where I’m at, when it comes to all this existential migration. Maybe I’m just getting older or more jaded, but although I still wrestle with the idea of home and belonging, I don’t resist it like I used to. I’ve had a dozen homes in a dozen countries and lots of travels in between and it has been a very bumpy (but interesting) ride. Like you said, it takes a while to get under the skin of a place. I’d rather stay 5 years in China or 6 in Turkey or similar, than bop around SE Asia as a backpacker (which I have done). I like to make a home, find work, create projects in that new home. Find out new parts of my intellect or creativity that are dredged up by the new locale. Here in Leicester, I’m flinging myself into weird experimental baking, making all sorts of breads out of the flours found in Indian markets. Chapati baguettes have been a huge hit! These flights of inspiration will hopefully keep me happily rooted here for a while.
Beautiful post, Maryanne. I love the idea of pearls forming out of China’s appalling pollution and its ever-growing sea of humanity. I could string a necklace with my new-found patience and perspective.
I am never content to stay in the same place for long. Once the thrill of discovering a new locale has faded I grow restless and eager to move on. I cannot remain inert; something propels me forward. Even during this brief stay in America, where I’m supposed to be resting and focusing on the next overseas move, I can’t seem to sit still. I’m currently planning a multi-week US roadtrip for the month before we are supposed to pack up all our belongings and move to a new continent. The desire to travel is strong, but it’s deeper than that. I want to learn new things, about myself and the world around me. I want to want to test my inner strength and resolve. I don’t want to end up like my grandmother, sitting in a rocker by the fire waiting for the grandkids to visit and slowly forgetting their names. Though, really, I’m much too stubborn to ever let myself get into such a sad state!
Heather recently posted..Say What? The Best Chinglish from Two Years in China
I hear you! Even my velvet rut daydreams of staying settled and calm back home were short lived (like, for minutes at a time). Right now, when we’re trying to sort out work and a flat in Leicester (and which I’m actually really happy and excited to be doing), I keep finding my mind drifting to thoughts of road trips to Wales or Scotland or Ireland or France (or anywhere that doesn’t require a flight, as I’m too far along for that), then drifting further to thoughts of where we can move after a year or two or however long it is we’ll be here- will we finish getting our MAs in education-related stuff and go work in, say, universities in Oman? How cool would that be? The propulsion never goes away…
MaryAnne, thank you for writing this post. I share many of the thoughts and feelings about which you’ve written.
Henry | @fotoeins recently posted..Heidelberg: carousing at the Christmas Markets
Thank you. I think people like us are more common than we might think…
“No velvet rut allowed.” Indeed! I admit that part of leaving Canada was how much it was the same everyday. I can walk down one block in my neighborhood in Wuxi and STILL discover something quirky or new. In Canada, it never changed. Wake up, work, sleep, repeat. See the same friends over and over again. Don’t get me wrong, I dearly love my friends before Nomadic Chick, but I saw the rest of life as a plastic container that’s produced a thousand times over in a factory – the same edges, density and give.
And I never felt like myself – who I truly am. Migration, change, jarring movement has done what you said so eloquently — forced me to see things about myself or learn things I hadn’t even known. Sounds so navel-gazing, but I’ve also grown to love the world, to see that we are a collective mind and events like war and hate over religion is freakin silly. That baby is gonna be a migrator before a talker, I love this notion!
Jeannie Mark recently posted..Hong Kong Street Food: Turnip Cake & Home
Exactly what you said, lady. So wish you were here so we could have a proper long chat. It’s not navel gazing at all, but rather (I think) hard, serious questioning of societal norms and expectations and life paths and sequencing etc, etc. I’m so glad you are deeply immersed in the process of deconstructing all of that. Rebuild it well!
Well written. There is no rule book that everyone needs to follow, and that you ahve followed your own path thus far is commendable. Even with the baby on the way, quite quickly, it does not mean it is the end of an adventure, it just means the start of another. And, I am glad to hear that it seems you are planning the next migration!
Amber recently posted..Traveling With Kids Gets Easier and Easier
Thank you. After not a lot of contemplation and second guessing, I have definitively tossed out the rule book when it comes to living life– particularly life with a new baby on the way. After all, if no rule book was needed until now, why need it apply to a life with baby in tow? We all have our own paths to follow and we should all be wise enough to navigate them. Onward ho!
YES! I thrive on difficult places. I’d thought it was my culturally English DNA — we like to whine. But I think there’s a tension there that can help keep you alive.
There’s something about living and travelling outside your comfort zone that I just… enjoy…. and I don’t know why. I wouldn’t be happy anywhere that didn’t more than occasionally do my head in.
Theodora recently posted..In an English Country Garden
Totally understood. I think I’m happy to be temporarily slowing down with scaring myself silly or flinging myself into terribly uncomfortable situations– maybe it’s the proto-spawn I’m gestating or something. It’s nice to be in a middle zone, somewhere new but not too uncomfortable. Somewhere stable but not permanent. We’re still talking about heading off to, say, Oman in a year or two…
Yes, yes and yes. I love having friends like you with enormous brains. And thank goodness or the internet, which allows me to keep in touch with your deep thoughts and wonderful writing! xxx
Fiona recently posted..Five Great Chinese Food Apps for Gourmet Travellers to China
Thank you, Fiona. The feeling is mutual. You’re directly responsible for a decent proportion of my internal creative drive, inspiration and momentum.
It is exciting! I should take some time and read that paper, maybe it will explain my own serial expat behaviors. Best of luck with your new move and the baby and with figuring everything out (although, if your experience is any bit like mine, it will take a long long time for new life in new city with new baby to make sense, my little guy is nearly one year and the past year just seems to be coming into focus now).
Kirstin recently posted..finding the perfect park
I’m still slightly reeling at the speed and force of change taking place this year. I imagine it’s similar to your situation. New city, new country, new baby… we haven’t even moved into a place of our own yet and the baby is due late Jan-mid Feb some time… Strangely enough, I feel okay about this. Deluded?