Home for the Holidays

At my desk, since I moved to Luxembourg, hangs a pink index-card sized post it. There are only 4 letters: C, N, L, H. And long strings of numbers after. The coordinators of four different locations: Cleveland (where I came from), Norwood (where I was), Luxembourg (where I was going), and the coordinates of a colleague and friend’s home, which is always open to me. I looked at it more often when I first moved here, but now it remains more as a comforting blanket I know is hanging on the wall. There were a lot of unknowns when I was given that pink post it, and a lot of thoughts if I’d ever have that home always welcome to me here.

I do have it. I know I have the homes of many colleagues across Europe, and many friends in Luxembourg open to me. But none more apparent than the invitation to the parent’s homes of one of my colleagues and now closest friends. I was intrigued when she first invited me to her parents for the holidays and break. And the more I mulled it over, the more I remembered that I should take the risks and do the scary things, and so when she repeated the invitation with conviction, I decided to accept.

The decision was terrifying. I don’t think I’ve ever gone to a friend’s home to stay for a time, without knowing their family first. I was walking in blind to a close-knit family unit, over the holiday season. My friend graciously helped organize the schedule, and I was excited to visit three cities in France and Switzerland I’d never been too before. As the date approached, I grew more nervous at how would I manage this unknown situation, but I remember the host of friends who joined my large family and survived, so I was encouraged.

And what an absolute treat. The weeks leading up to Christmas were insanely busy, with last minute work travels, church events, and hosting Christmas dinner. There’s the normal chaos of the holidays, compounded by my insanity of schedules. But going to N’s house was walking into a fairy tale. Her mom and stepdad were beyond welcoming. And I was plied with oh so delicious food. I’m not always used to the European custom of being served plated food in people’s home, but it was a humbling treat. I was treated like a fairytale princess- each dish cooked with love, seasoned to perfection, and generously piled on my plate. I was handed a towel and instructed to take a shower, a warm and perfect end to a busy day. The tranquility of the house and friendliness of the family was the respite my soul craved for. That first night I slept almost 12 hours, only to wake-up to my friend preparing a breakfast spread for me. She handled all the transportation and scheduling things for the trip, leaving me to passenger princess along on the bus. Every night, I slept like a log, and woke up to beautiful breakfasts plated for me alongside freshly brewed teas. The one day, we arrived back around 9pm, having had dinner in Lyon. Her mother was waiting with a plate of beef pulao I still dream about, and warmed it up before she served it to me. Subsequent nights had us drinking warm comforting black tea together.

There’s something so special to be part of a family. To be cared for like one of their own; the pulao and tea were reminiscent of my dad’s biryani and mom’s chai, and triggered the core memories of safety for me. The restful sleep and warm treatment provided me with a place I felt my body and soul truly relax in.

As wonderful as the home was, the hospitality extended outside of it: a guided tour along the lake in Annecy, with photo stop pull-offs at beautiful locations, a visit to Chateau de Montebethon in all its Christmas glory, and drives to the train and bus stations.

It’s weird for me to be a guest, and took a moment and several friendly admonishments from friends to relax and enjoy. It was strange not to be doing dishes, or clearing the table, or cleaning anything. But it was the reset I needed to head into a crazy Q1 2026. It was peace, content, and love, all wrapped together in a warm heart and hospitable home.

And now, approaching two years since I arrived, I’ve finally experienced going to a friend’s parent’s house- alone. I’ve experienced what so many others have experienced in my family’s home; I’ve experienced a depth of friendship I never fathomed with a colleague here.

And the pink post it seems less desperate now. It’s a wonderful reminder of what is always there for me in New England. But it seems less and less likely that I’ll have to go there as an escape, because there’s nowhere else to turn. It’s there as a comforting blanket to remember, for sure. But I’ve also found my homes here in Europe as well, with plenty of places of safety and warmth to run too when needed.