Being back in Sweden reflecting over our vacation to New York City, I realize how odd it feels to call two places “home.” To call your parents house “home” because you grew up there is hard to compare to relating to two entirely different countries both as “home.” To feel like you belong – to be comfortable, connected, and relaxed – to fit in – to be able to make friends – to know people, the area, and things to do – to be able to be yourself. To be coming and going all in the same visit.
Home is where the heart is, and you leave a piece of your heart in every place you’ve been and with every person you’ve met along the way.
This was my first time actually visiting New York City, spending time with friends and family, seeing the sites, making memories, shopping, eating American food, trying to do as much as possible in three weeks.
Reuniting with so many people was much needed, even if we sadly didn’t get to see everyone. BBQ’s, road trips, picnics, dinners, shopping, laughing, talking, or just sitting around doing nothing. Catching up and telling stories. Celebrating birthdays. Jumping in the ocean. Riding on a Ferris wheel. Going to the mall. Aimlessly walking around Manhattan. Watching fireworks. Going to museums. Just spending time doing anything with people we love and miss.