Between Two Homes

On belonging, distance, and the unexpected ways we discover ourselves.

There is a particular kind of distance that comes with living in another country. It is not always measured in kilometers, nor does it disappear simply because you have learned your way around a new place. Sometimes, it becomes noticeable in the smallest moments: a conversation that takes an unexpected turn, a joke that needs explaining, or the realization that something you once took for granted is no longer part of your everyday life.

When I moved to Costa Rica, I was looking for a different rhythm. I wanted to step away from the intensity of city life, live closer to nature, and make room for experiences that I felt were missing from my previous life. Leaving Argentina was a conscious decision, and one I am still glad I made. Living in another country has challenged me in ways I could not have anticipated. It has changed how I see the world, how I relate to others, and how I understand myself.

But with time, I have also discovered that choosing to leave one place does not mean leaving behind everything that made it feel like home. And building a life somewhere else is not always as straightforward as imagining it might be.

The things we don’t realize we carry

When we think about missing home, we often think first about family, friends, food, or familiar landscapes. But there are other things that are harder to identify. Culture is woven into everyday interactions: humor, shared references, gestures, ways of expressing affection, and the unspoken codes that shape how people relate to one another.

Even when people speak the same language, the way they communicate and connect can be very different. There are things that don’t need to be explained when you share a cultural background. You recognize a certain kind of humor, understand the context behind a comment, or know how to read the subtleties of an interaction. These small, almost invisible elements create a sense of familiarity that is difficult to reproduce elsewhere.

I have realized that I miss not only particular people, but also the ease of being understood within a familiar cultural context. I miss the natural continuity of relationships, the shared references, and the feeling of being part of a social world that doesn’t require constant translation.

It is not necessarily that one place is better than another. It is that the things that make us feel connected are often deeply rooted in the environments in which we grew up and the experiences we have shared with others.

Starting over without a safety net

Moving abroad often comes with the idea of starting over. There is something liberating about it: the possibility of stepping outside familiar expectations, questioning old patterns, and discovering parts of yourself that may have remained hidden within the life you knew.

But starting over also means leaving behind structures that quietly supported you. Some of them are obvious, like family and friendships. Others are less visible: knowing where to go when you need help, understanding how institutions work, having established professional contacts, or simply knowing that there are people and systems you can turn to when something goes wrong.

I don’t think I fully understood how much these things mattered until I found myself without them.

Building a support network takes time, and it is not something that can be achieved through individual effort alone. It depends on circumstances, opportunities, relationships, and a certain degree of stability. When you are also navigating unfamiliar systems, financial uncertainty, and the practical demands of establishing yourself in another country, even ordinary situations can become more complicated.

There are aspects of everyday life that I once barely noticed because they were simply part of the world I knew. Having a familiar healthcare system, knowing how to access services, or feeling that there are options available if an emergency happens. Living somewhere else has made me more aware of how much security can come from these seemingly ordinary structures.

And when some of those supports are absent or difficult to access, the experience of living abroad can feel more fragile than the freedom of starting over might suggest.

When quiet becomes isolation

One of the things I wanted when I left Argentina was a quieter life. I was tired of the pace of the city and of a working routine that no longer felt meaningful to me. I wanted more space, more time, and a closer relationship with the natural world.

I still value those things. But I have learned that quietness, on its own, is not enough to create a fulfilling life.

I had imagined that living closer to nature would naturally allow me to spend more time exploring, observing, and photographing the extraordinary biodiversity around me. Yet being geographically close to a forest does not necessarily mean having the time, resources, transportation, or freedom to access it regularly. Financial limitations and the practical circumstances of everyday life have often made that more difficult than I expected.

Over time, this has also affected my relationship with photography. When something that has been such an important part of your identity and your way of understanding the world becomes difficult to practice, the distance can grow almost without you noticing. And after a while, reconnecting with it is not always as simple as having the opportunity again.

The same complexity exists in social life. Meaningful connections rarely appear on demand. They grow through repeated encounters, shared experiences, and the gradual development of trust. Finding people with whom to build that kind of connection, and the circumstances in which those relationships can take root, can be one of the more difficult parts of establishing a life somewhere new.

I have come to understand that a quieter environment can offer something valuable while also making other kinds of stimulation and connection harder to find. I had wanted a quieter life, but I hadn’t realized how much I also needed a life that kept opening new doors.