a young adult's dreams of world exploration, not domination

a personal reflection on home, hiraeth, and the quiet hope behind every young adventurer's journey.

If you read May Mischief, my newsletter for last month, I mentioned a book that I read and loved — The Lightning Bottles by Marissa Stapley.

It's a love story that unfolds against the backdrop of the 90s alt-rock music scene set in Ontario, Seattle and Los Angeles, alternating with a present-day mystery set in Berlin and Iceland, aimed at resolving the disappearance of the lead singer of the band after which the book is named.

In the initial chapters, we see how two music lovers — Jane and Elijah — encounter each other in an online chatroom and take to writing letters to each other.

Dear Elijah,

Stouffville is so boring. And my mum is so strict that I'm stuck at home a lot. Or at church. I think Seattle sounds awesome.

I'm counting the days until I turn eighteen (just under a year) because I'm planning to get out of here. I have no idea where I'll go—somewhere, anywhere, would be better than this town—but I've always dreamed of moving to Europe. Somewhere cool, like Amsterdam or Paris. Maybe somewhere in Germany. Where would you go, if you could go anywhere? What would you do, who would you be?

...

Jane

When I read this passage, it struck me what an utterly ordinary human feeling it is to want to grow up and go away at some point.

Actually, it's not so much wanting to 'go away' from home as opposed to realizing how vast and wide the world is, so much larger than we could possibly fathom, and being pulled by an invisible call to explore.

To see what kind of people we'd become when we stepped into new and unknown territories.

Not even to 'see' ... because in those heady days of youth, I was pretty confident that I'd do well wherever I went. I was intelligent. I was a hard worker. I was an eager learner. One thing I knew about myself was my ability to relate to people no matter their background.

Isn't that all one needed to survive in any part of the world? The ability to work hard and contribute to the economy and society, the community and culture around us?

At that time, it never occurred to me that visas and immigration permits could be used as political arsenal, that people may not want to give me a chance simply because I didn't look like them (although I spoke their language just as well, if not better) or didn't go to the universities they had heard of in countries they had been to or had favourable opinions of.

You can tell I'm still smarting from the "You could always go back" comment my therapist (now ex-therapist) offhandedly hurled at me a few weeks ago when I was confiding in her my worries about my aging parents back in India.

Which is why the passage in Stapley's book resonated with me so much. Every young adult, no matter where they're from or where they've grown up, dreams of going to explore the world on their own when they're old enough.

And why ever not? Culture is replete with books and movies featuring the hero's journey, popularized by Joseph Campbell, in which the hero embarks on a quest, has awesome adventures, then comes back home, wiser, more mature, and having grown in ways that wouldn't have been possible had he not left home in the first place.

Except, what happens when the hero's very definition of home changes in the course of his adventures? What then?

Think of Bilbo and Frodo Baggins, who couldn't settle in the Shire for long after their adventures. And they chose to sail away with the Elves to the Undying Lands.

If you've ever travelled to any place outside of your home on your own, I'm sure you'll agree that the intention in doing so was never to dominate or destroy that place in any way.

Not even to change it. Because, why would you want to change something when you're already in love with the idea of it and are eager to see how it is for real?

No! Instead, you go there to become a part of its fabric, to weave yourself and whatever you have to offer in the threads of whatever culture or opportunities drew you there.

I may be naïve but I think the average human being is not always looking at what they can get for themselves.

Beyond a point, once our basic needs are met, we're looking to contribute and serve, because that's what makes us part of the culture we had once cherished from outside and eventually, very fortunately, have become a part of.

That's what makes us feel we've finally arrived. That's what adds that quintessential layer of meaning to all the struggle and effort the journey had entailed.

Perhaps the question was never “where is home?” but rather “how do we become it?”

And in the process, we become the very thing we longed for. We embody the spirit of the very place we dreamed of visiting one day, of exploring, of making a life in.

So, dear Reader, if you've ever felt like you belonged both everywhere and nowhere, maybe you and I have more in common than we thought.

Like Jane and Elijah, maybe we're all just sending letters into the vast unknown, hoping someone, somewhere, understands.

Wherever you are on your path—departing, arriving, or lingering in that luminous in-between—I hope you feel the quiet warmth of belonging. Not to a place, but to a story still unfolding. Yours.