The concept of home has always been elusive for me. I grew up as an Army brat in India, moving every two years to a new city, a new house, a new school. This nomadic childhood made me adaptable in my approach, but also left me craving a sense of stability and permanence.
The rootlessness persisted after I moved to New York City as a newly wed. As young immigrants eager to establish ourselves in a new land, we moved frequently, chasing convenience and affordability in our living situation over everything else.
However, once we had kids, we decided to move across the country to the Pacific Northwest for a new job opportunity for him. While I loved the excitement of my job at People magazine in New York City, we were all ready for a change of pace. We landed on Mercer Island while we searched for a more permanent home. The manager of our apartment building gave us a very prescient Hotel California warning, “Once you arrive on Mercer Island, you never leave. “ And of course, she was right! We didn’t think we could afford to buy a house on Mercer Island, but when we walked into this 1960 house, I instantly fell in love with the wall of windows looking out onto a beautiful willow. We stretched ourselves to buy the house and I’ve been grateful for that ever since.
My children grew up in that house - walking to the park in the summer for Music in the Park, sledding at Homestead during snow days, having birthday parties at home and learning to drive in the island school parking lots. I didn’t realize how much the island traditions meant to the children until we were planning a summer trip to Europe and my daughter burst out crying because she didn’t want to miss the Mercer Island Summer celebration. We planned our trip so we could come back for the second day of the celebration.
I loved the sense of community that is such an integral part of life on the island - bumping into my children’s teachers on a walk, running into friends on a trip to the grocery store, even donating and shopping at the Thrift Store. When COVID hit, I spent countless hours just walking the island with my labradoodle, sitting by the lake or spotting woodpeckers in the woods by West Mercer elementary. Gathering in the park with our dogs was a lifeline for so many of us, and I ended up meeting and forming deep bonds with my “dog group”, many of whom are like family to me now.
As idyllic as life on the island has been, it’s still life - full of transitions and changes. The past few years have felt to me like I’ve been trapped in an earthquake where the aftershocks just keep coming. My marriage ended, my children both left for college - leaving me with a completely empty nest. And then, I had a house fire that significantly damaged even that empty nest.
During these challenges, my absolute pillar of support has been my community on Mercer Island. I cannot even list the ways my friends have shown up for me - they’ve been there for late night talks, shown up at my house when I called them sobbing in the middle of the day, cooked me food, helped me set up my temporary house, welcomed me into their homes. My dog hater friend walked my dogs when I was sick, another friend drove over to pick me up when my new giant puppy decided to sit down in the middle of the road and refused to walk home.
During this time of change, it has been tempting to seek a fresh start. To perhaps downsize and move off island or even to a different part of the world. “You can do anything, go anywhere now,” my friends have said. But, I’ve realized, I’d rather be here. I am now rebuilding my home on the island. I’m doing it because that feeling I get when I turn off the freeway onto the island is the feeling of home. It’s the feeling I’ve been seeking all my life.