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inannajones commented:
You can pretend to recreate yourself in an unfamiliar territory, but ultimately it forcefully peels away the false surfaces and insists on you returning to what and who you really are. Your own true self is the only thing to come back to when everything else around is strange.
And unfortunately you never realise until long after it all has happened. Oh well.
I have little to add to this, because it says it all, really. Moreover, I haven't lived away from Dublin for any length of time since I was two, so I don't have any first-hand experience to draw on. Despite this, though, I think I recognise - on some simplistic level - the experience Inanna's talking about.
Certainly the bit about not realising what has happened until long afterwards rings big bells. I travelled on my own for three months in 1997 (to New Zealand and back, taking the scenic route). When I came home I moved into college rooms with a good friend, and about half way through the year she told me, exasperatedly, that she had thought I'd come back more changed than I had. I think neither of us understood how profound the changes had actually been.
(And do I mythologise my tiny little trip? And am I guilty, once again, of setting up a monolithic and immutable Statement of Radegundity, against which mere others may dash themselves to pieces if they will? Well, yeah, probably. We all have our weaknesses.)
People have all sorts of reasons to uproot and go and live away from their established home, away from the networks of friends and familiar places. I've never had a strong urge to do this (although as an idea it has surfaced from time to time over the past few years). Partly, it's fear of the unknown; partly, it's rootedness in my Dublin life; partly, it's that nothing in particular pulls me to another place or pushes me to leave - indeed, circumstances have often conspired to make staying the most attractive option.
Also, unless my life alters fundamentally, I'm not likely to have the pure "true self" experience any time soon, since where I go,niallm goes (which neatly sorts out a whole set of identity questions before we even start).
So do I get to meet my true self at all, then? I think, on balance, that I do. The notion that home stifles the self is very Irish, but I'm not sure it's entirely accurate. Migration, with all its inescapable challenges, is one way to progress towards self-knowledge, but I think there is also merit in walking the measured path, not roaring through the fabric of my life with a chainsaw, not flinging the pieces into the air and watching as they thump to earth in a new configuration - and yet coming to know myself anyway.
Staying home, after all, presents its own challenges. If and when the time comes to move away, it'll happen, and I'll learn from the experience as from any other.
inannajones commented:You can pretend to recreate yourself in an unfamiliar territory, but ultimately it forcefully peels away the false surfaces and insists on you returning to what and who you really are. Your own true self is the only thing to come back to when everything else around is strange.
And unfortunately you never realise until long after it all has happened. Oh well.
I have little to add to this, because it says it all, really. Moreover, I haven't lived away from Dublin for any length of time since I was two, so I don't have any first-hand experience to draw on. Despite this, though, I think I recognise - on some simplistic level - the experience Inanna's talking about.
Certainly the bit about not realising what has happened until long afterwards rings big bells. I travelled on my own for three months in 1997 (to New Zealand and back, taking the scenic route). When I came home I moved into college rooms with a good friend, and about half way through the year she told me, exasperatedly, that she had thought I'd come back more changed than I had. I think neither of us understood how profound the changes had actually been.
(And do I mythologise my tiny little trip? And am I guilty, once again, of setting up a monolithic and immutable Statement of Radegundity, against which mere others may dash themselves to pieces if they will? Well, yeah, probably. We all have our weaknesses.)
People have all sorts of reasons to uproot and go and live away from their established home, away from the networks of friends and familiar places. I've never had a strong urge to do this (although as an idea it has surfaced from time to time over the past few years). Partly, it's fear of the unknown; partly, it's rootedness in my Dublin life; partly, it's that nothing in particular pulls me to another place or pushes me to leave - indeed, circumstances have often conspired to make staying the most attractive option.
Also, unless my life alters fundamentally, I'm not likely to have the pure "true self" experience any time soon, since where I go,
niallm goes (which neatly sorts out a whole set of identity questions before we even start).So do I get to meet my true self at all, then? I think, on balance, that I do. The notion that home stifles the self is very Irish, but I'm not sure it's entirely accurate. Migration, with all its inescapable challenges, is one way to progress towards self-knowledge, but I think there is also merit in walking the measured path, not roaring through the fabric of my life with a chainsaw, not flinging the pieces into the air and watching as they thump to earth in a new configuration - and yet coming to know myself anyway.
Staying home, after all, presents its own challenges. If and when the time comes to move away, it'll happen, and I'll learn from the experience as from any other.
