The first time I read the Odyssey, I was sixteen years old. The fantastical creatures, the alien cultures, and the wily hero’s desperate search for home were all thrilling to me. I felt an uncanny familiarity: with the characters, yes, but also with the way the story was told, and what it seemed to be about. Although I didn’t know it at the time, many of my favorite books were modeled on Homer’s tale. I’ve read the Odyssey many times since then, and I learn something new—about the world, about myself—every time. Now that I am nearly the age Odysseus was when he returned to Ithaca, I realize the gravitational pull of this story has been the idea of nostos, the ancient Greek concept of homecoming.Article continues after advertisement
I’m not really from a place, like Odysseus is. He’s the son of a king who is the son of a king who is the son of a king and so on of a small and stubborn island in the Ionian Sea. He can claim one home, and yearn for it exclusively. I had lived in a dozen places by the time I was an adult. One thing I know is that you can find allegorical Lotus Eaters and Sirens and Phaeacians and Cyclops in all kinds of places.
As I traveled from place to place, I too was searching for clues about how to live, how to be a fully realized person, everywhere I went. I was searching for my own idea of home.
