Then let me be always migrating,
en route to summer feeding grounds, nests,
to winter mates gathered where the streams
still run, where stream melts the ice
and hidden hot springs sustain.
Yes, I arrive, but I go again.
I have appeared and will appear, the habitats
strange, and sometimes I will be lost:
sidewalk of a foreign city slapping uphill holding your hand,
a small inland pond fed by nothing but rain.
-- Christina Hutchins, The Stranger Dissolves
In the past couple of days, I've had very interesting conversations with strangers about my name. At a coffee shop, a friendly barista, who is half-Russian, told me all about my namesake city in Ukraine and made me promise to go there one day.
"You have to go. My grandma is from Odessa and I have fond memories of my summers in the Black Sea", he said. Then he taught me how to write my name in Russian, both in manuscript and cursive. "You read it as ah-DYESH-uh." It's rather sweet how excited he was.
Then I met this elderly man in Marin who told me about a novel he read in the 70's that took place in Odessa. He wrote down the name of the author and insisted that I should read the book. "It's about spies and secret organizations and you will learn a lot about your city", he said.
Last week, I went to a bookshop in Santa Cruz and met this lady who got so enthusiastic when I told her my name. "Oh, like the female form of Odysseus!", she exclaimed. Then she told me how she always wanted to write a book similar to Homer's. "But this time it's the women who will go on an epic journey to the ends of the world and leave the menfolk behind."
I told her that I haven't read The Odyssey and find it's size rather daunting. "It doesn't matter. As long as you know that your name means going on a long journey. Isn't that what life is all about?" Yes, I suppose it is. I haven't thought much about what my name means to me but perhaps all these years I've been doing just that.
This month, it's going to be exactly 10 years since I left my country and my family to follow my own journey. A decade. I can't believe it's been that long. And when I think about my 23 year-old self nervously clutching my passport and student visa at the airport one hot August day in 2003, I can only smile at how brave and determined I was. I barely knew what I was doing but that didn't stop me from taking the leap anyway.
Where did all that strength come from? And how much have I changed since then? I'd like to think that in a lot of ways I am still the same person. I'd like to think that I've learned many things and have a deeper understanding of who I am. That perhaps I've grown into my name, wanderer, seeker of unknown seas.
Have a listen: Hopeless Wanderer by Mumford & Sons
Photo taken in Stinson Beach, CA.