Happy to be Home

“If you give love, and live love, then you’ll always have a home,” – Roo Panes, Indigo Home

“I don’t want to go back to America,” was becoming my mantra my last week in Dublin. It was always met by a constant, “America isn’t that bad, Megan.” I had spent the last seven months in Europe and my life there was amazing. Ever since I was a child, I had dreamed about living in Europe. After years of imagining, I was finally living the life of my dreams. And I loved every minute of it.

Life abroad was a constant adventure. I had spent five months studying at the University of Paris Diderot in Paris, followed by two months interning at Fighting Words Creative Writing Centre in Dublin. Every minute of it was exciting. There were weekend trips hiking in castle doted forests in France and cliff sides of Irish fishing villages. There were afternoons spent writing in tiny cafes while discovering the best cappuccinos. There were weekends for travelling to new countries, and others for brunch with friends and picnics in the park. There were museums to discover, plays to see, and nights out full of smiling friends and life-long memories. I was getting compliments from people about how I seemed happier and more alive than I’d ever been before. I was finally living the life I had always dreamed of and I was overjoyed.

Leaving meant saying goodbye to easy certainty of my life abroad. The first semester of my junior year had been a tough one. It was marked with profound loneliness and anxiety. The only thing that seemed to get me through the semester was hope that the life I had dreamed for myself was awaiting me in Europe. Even my time abroad had been scattered with disappointments, but it was easy to ignore my worries when I was surrounded by beauty and adventure. I wondered if it would last in a place where the very things I lost would be in my face all the time. I had challenged myself to be present and felt like I had really risen to the occasion, treasuring each and every moment I was able to have in Europe. Coming home meant entering into a scary unknown.

Whether I wanted to or not, I got on a plane on July 18^th and headed to Detroit. I had five weeks before school started- a much needed rest to catch up with my family, see my friends from home, and start work on my thesis. At church, I prayed that this semester would be good, better than last fall- with less loneliness, more happiness. I kept myself distracted working on a novel, going to the beach, and visiting friends nearby. Basically trying as hard as I could to not think about going back to school. But Notre Dame, just like Europe, had once been a life I had dreamed about. Why was I dreading going back?

But then something started to happen. I started to get messages from friends about how excited they were for senior year and to see me again. I moved back in with quite confidence. My first week back was filled with happy reunions with the friends I made in Paris and Dublin- dinners, game nights, nights out- reliving our memories and talking about our hopes for this new school year. I began to realize that maybe, just maybe, this year was going to be different.

I think it hit me most at the opening mass of the semester. During the Prayers of the Faithful, intentions were read in several languages by students from various countries. I was really pleased when I looked up to see two of my friends reading intentions. The Irish intention was read by one of my roommates from Dublin and the French intention was read by one of my close friends whom I studied with in Paris. It was at this moment that I had one of those beautiful “God” moments where it hit me all at once: The life-changing experiences and the comradery I felt abroad exists with me right here, every day

Senior Year is different than I thought it was going to be. But that doesn’t mean that it isn’t special. In the end, it’s a year that is going to mean a bunch of different things. It means figuring out a future career and preparing to graduate. But for now, it means heart to hearts while walking around the lake. It’s running down the dunes in the pouring rain. It’s late nights on the town with my very best friends. It’s not mountain-tops in Santorini, but each new memory is reminder- that it is just as important to be present now as it was in Europe. That each last precious moment is valuable, and I’m going to spend my time, not dwelling on opportunities that could have happened, or fretting over inevitable futures, but to focus on these amazing, life-giving people that are making me happy to be home.