Ulysses reloaded

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I read the Odyssey for the first time when I was 20, but in many ways it was like reading a known story: fragments of it had permeated my childhood since I can remember. Fewer things can stimulate the imagination of a youngster more than epic fights against mythological monsters or avoiding the traps of mischievous divinities, all embedded in the long and winding journey of a hero who eventually returns home in triumph. Sure enough, Homer could have been the first Hollywood producer. However, the Odyssey is not just for kids: it portrays so many aspects of the human condition that one can relate to it still today. When I left my home country 7 years ago on a postdoctoral grant, I was also filled with a thrill for adventure not unlike the one that drove Ulysses to join the Trojan war.

Once you leave your home country, you immediately realize the world is swarmed with modern Ulysses, already back home or still in transit. And with the present crisis looming on us, more and more people will be forced to join this condition. The toils of these modern Ulysses are certainly not as glamorous as the ones afflicting the original hero, but equally important (and painful...): finding an apartment, opening a bank account, wrestling with stubborn bureaucrats or trying to learn the local language are just some of the everyday battles one has to fight.

But let me come back to the Odyssey. One of the things that always fascinated me about the book was that it was not clear (at least to me) whether Ulysses truly wanted to come back home. Of course he says so vehemently, but whenever he has the chance he invariably misses the shot: he acts foolishly, annoys the Gods and is being pushed away from the right path over and over again. If we reflect on the fact that he spent 10 years (ten!) wandering around the Aegean Sea while continuously missing the way home, it is just ridiculous. Even as a kid I smelled something fishy. This had to be done on purpose, otherwise Ulysses was the worst sailor ever!

Likewise, in the course of the last 7 years I have asked myself many times whether my changing countries every 2 years is part of the journey home (as I’ve always been claiming) or I’m just running in circles in fear of making that final step. To be honest, I haven’t figured it out yet, but what I've lately been observing in many of my friends staying abroad is that the need to hit home is a rather sudden call: one has been restlessly wandering the world and realizes, almost overnight, that this seemingly random walk has somehow always been the long journey back to Ithaca. And it works like a biological clock: they urgently feel the need to get home, right there, right now. I'm not at that stage yet, but I would not bet a dime with you that things won't change in a year, or maybe in just a matter of months: I've seen too many hardcore travelers turn back home on short notice not to be cautious. Like with a leaking faucet, your sink might be overflowing before you realize it.

But here comes the crux: what is home? Sure we all have our Penelopes somewhere (family, friends, memories), and the time we spend away from them is slowly but firmly weighing on us. But for how long can we still call a place home when we are away? Is there a threshold or we can always emulate Ulysses’ comeback, seemingly restituting things as they were before we left? Can we spend years away and still expect to come back unscathed? Neither the feedback I get from different returnees nor my own experience sounds like Ulysses's comeback. Not at all. As the years I've been away increase every short visit home is more and more painful: I've gradually lost touch not only with people but also with cultural background; in my family everybody got kids, and so grown-up by now that I completely missed their childhoods; all my reference points are stuck 7 years ago; etc. It's like waking up from a coma... Unlike in the Odyssey, our Penelopes back home have not sown a tapestry at daytime to unsew it at nighttime. The tapestry has been always growing, to the point that now we can barely recognize it. Do we belong there anymore? Is there a place one can still call home?

The same dilemma applied to the original Ulysses, though. Only that Homer, wisely enough, stopped the epopey at the right time and spared himself the pains of telling the readers what happened afterwards. However, other authors thought about it. Interestingly enough, all these sequels show an unadapted Ulysses that ends up leaving Penelope and Ithaca, never to return. Our modern Ulysses would step in here and probably add: indeed, what is the point in staying when your Ithaca does not exist anymore?

I don't know the answer, but maybe the problem is to view things in terms of journeys and destinations. Much the same way we cannot trail back to our childhood, that place we used to call home is not there anymore, it's gone forever. The safety net it once represented has faded into a (potentially dangerous) memory. Live with it or be ready for bitter disappointments. I can easily picture Ulysses back in Ithaca longing for the past, feeling emotionally detached and seeking only the company of the surviving members of his crew. As modern Ulysses we should avoid running into the same pitfalls... However, while writing this post I became aware of the term Ulysses syndrome, used in psychology to identify disorders affecting, especially, immigrant population who cannot adapt to new cultural and geographical environments. As one of my italian friends (also a blogger here) says: "once you get into the Intrazone you will always remain there. You just have to accept it". I agree, and in it we can still choose to behave like the original Ulysses and cry over spilled milk or else adapt and switch gears to always make the best of our changing situations. Good luck to all of you in this endeavour!

by O.C.