The Quiet Shift Toward Home

One thing I’ve really come to appreciate about traveling abroad is the fresh perspective it gives me on life back in the States. The distance makes it easier for me to see things with more clarity - a clarity that’s hard to find when I’m caught up in the routines and constant busyness of everyday life at home.

And I'm not even talking about politics - though, let's be honest, that’s pretty hard to ignore these days. What I mean is the everyday rhythm of life in the U.S. - the habits, the routines, the constant fast pace. We’re so used to living this way that we hardly even notice it. But stepping away has given me the space and perspective to really see it for what it is, and that distance has been eye-opening.

For most of my life, the United States has been “home,” and Europe was simply a place we visited. But that doesn’t feel true anymore. Something has quietly but profoundly shifted. I now talk about Europe with the same ease and affection I use when talking about Asheville. It’s no longer just a travel destination - it feels like a place where I truly belong, a place where I feel alive and more like myself.

To be clear, when I say the U.S. no longer feels like home, I mean the place - not the people. I miss my loved ones more than I can put into words. Every reunion brings me so much joy, and saying goodbye never gets easier. That part hasn’t changed, and it never will.

But the U.S.  itself? I don’t miss it - not the government, not the culture, not the overall energy. Even though Carla and I haven’t made our permanent move to Europe yet, our hearts have already crossed over. We’re still here for practical reasons, but in every other way, the transition has already begun.

One of my favorite things about being in Europe is that it  doesn’t have the sort of car culture that we have here in the States. It’s not that I dislike driving - but the fact that it’s practically a requirement can be exhausting. In most American cities and towns, cars aren’t just helpful; they’re essential. Want to pick up groceries? Drive. Meet a friend for coffee? Drive. Running a quick errand? You guessed it - drive.

In Europe, especially in the heart of towns or cities - we walk everywhere. And that change has been one of the most refreshing parts of our time there. Everything we need is just a short walk away: markets, cafes, pharmacies, bakeries, bookstores, and parks. It’s not only convenient, it also feels healthier and more connected; more human.

And that changes everything. There’s something grounding about moving through the world on foot - it creates a deeper connection with the people and the place around you. And it’s not just about the physical benefits, though those are real. We move more, sit less, breathe fresh air, and feel more energized throughout the day. But it’s also about a different kind of well-being - a sense of belonging.

When you walk through town regularly, you start to recognize familiar faces. You bump into neighbors, chat with shopkeepers, and linger in the square as the sun sets. Those little moments weave you into the life of the community in a way that’s impossible when you’re isolated in a car.

Another thing I really love about Europe is the quiet, effortless diversity. In so many of the cities and towns we’ve spent time in, there’s this beautiful sense of openness. You’ll see same-sex couples holding hands, laughing together on park benches, or sharing a meal at a café - it’s not a big deal. It’s not a statement; it’s just life. You’ll hear five or six different languages on a single block, see people of all backgrounds gathering in the square, and there’s a subtle but real feeling that people are simply allowed to be themselves, without explanation or justification.

And that matters. Because this isn’t just tolerance -  it’s genuine acceptance. And there’s a big difference.

What moves me most about these places is that it doesn’t matter how you look, who you love, or where you’re from - none of that feels like a barrier to being part of the community. You don’t have to squeeze into a specific mold to be welcomed, and that’s incredibly powerful.

In the States, there are definitely pockets of this kind of openness - I’ve felt it in places like New York, San Francisco, Asheville, and a few others - but it’s still uneven. Too often, there’s this underlying sense that you need to justify your presence, explain who you are, or prove that you deserve to be seen, respected, and safe.

In Europe, especially in the more progressive cities and many of the smaller towns we love, that weight is lifted. The atmosphere feels more relaxed - more curious than judgmental. For someone like me, who has always valued inclusivity and human connection, being in a place where that kind of openness isn’t rare but normal feels deeply comforting and freeing. It resonates with something at the core of who I am - my cultural and emotional self - and it makes me feel more at home.

Of course, no place is perfect. There’s work to be done everywhere. But there’s something in the air here - something spacious and kind - that reminds me that a better, more open world isn’t just a dream. In some places, it’s already being lived.

Something else I really love about being in Europe is how work and life don’t feel like they’re competing with each other- at least not the way they often do in the States. Instead, they seem to coexist in a much healthier way. This balance feels deeply ingrained in the culture. You can sense it in the daily rhythm of life, in the way people interact with each other, and even in the slower, more intentional pace of everyday living.

There’s an underlying understanding that people are not machines. Rest, leisure, and connection are not treated as indulgences or luxuries – they’re seen as essential to a meaningful life. Whether it’s long lunches, guaranteed vacation time, or shops closing for an afternoon break, the message is clear: your life matters just as much as your work does.

In the U.S., on the other hand, the hustle culture dominates. Everything needs to be done quickly, efficiently, and perfectly - or else. There’s a constant sense of urgency, a push to achieve and stay ahead. Even casual questions like “What do you do?” can feel like a way of measuring your worth. That grind leaves little space for simply living.

In Europe, it’s different. Who you are feels more important than what you do. People ask about your family, your travels, the meal you just enjoyed. They take time to savor a coffee without checking their phones every few minutes. They wander through parks at an easy pace, take time off without guilt, and even in big cities, there’s this quiet reminder that life isn’t something to conquer - it’s something to experience and savor.

And it’s not just my observation. These values show up in real ways - shorter workweeks, stronger labor protections, generous parental leave, and an overall respect for downtime. But even more than the policies, it’s a mindset - a shared belief that life should be lived, not rushed through.

For someone like me, who’s retired and doesn’t answer to a boss anymore, you might think these differences wouldn’t matter. But they do. The tone of a place, the values that shape it - they seep into your everyday life. Here, it feels easier to breathe, to slow down, and to remember what truly matters.

For Carla and me, the U.S. no longer feels like home. That’s not meant as a criticism - just an honest reflection of where we are in life. Living here now feels like wearing an old pair of jeans I once loved - jeans that hold memories and served me well for years, but no longer fit the person I’ve become.

We’re still a couple of years away from making the move permanent. There are loose ends to tie up and responsibilities to take care of. But emotionally? We’ve already crossed over. The U.S. isn’t our home anymore - it’s our waiting room. While we are grateful for all it has been (and still is in some ways) we’re ready for what comes next.

When we think about the people we’ll be “leaving”, it doesn’t feel like goodbye. Yes, we’ll be across the ocean, under a different sky, maybe even speaking a different language. But we’re not disappearing -  we’re simply shifting our center of gravity from one continent to another.

We’re already looking forward to visits - hopefully long ones. We imagine shared meals on cobblestone streets, exploring new towns together, and laughing at the little mix-ups that come with being in a new place. This isn’t about closing a door; it’s about opening a new one - a door that leads to adventure, growth, and, hopefully, an even deeper connection with the people we love most.

So, when the time comes, it won’t be “goodbye.” It’ll be a “come visit” or “let’s make new memories together.” We’ll be here with open arms and warm hearts, waiting at the door. Because no matter where we are - or where the people we love happen to be - they’ll always feel like home to us. Always.