Between Two Homes: Finding Belonging Between Where You’re From and Where You’ve Grown | Sophie Mutlu

Between Two Homes

I’ve been thinking a lot about what home really means.

For me, it’s not one place anymore. It’s two — and sometimes that feels like a gift, and other times like a quiet ache I can’t quite name.

Germany will always be my home country.
It’s the place where I grew up — where I know the rhythm of the language, the smell of the rain, the taste of bread from the local bakery. It’s the comfort of my parents’ kitchen, the sound of my mom laughing, the spontaneous dinners with my family that never needed planning. It’s familiar streets, familiar faces, and a kind of belonging that doesn’t have to be earned.

And then there’s the Yukon — my home now for eight years.
It’s where I built my life as an artist, where my son was born and is growing up. It’s where the air feels different — wilder, sharper, full of space. It’s the place that taught me strength, self-trust, and the beauty of living close to nature.

I carry both places inside of me.
And yet, the older I get, the harder it becomes to stretch across the distance between them.

Anyone who has ever lived between two worlds will understand this feeling — the quiet tug in both directions. The sense that wherever you are, a part of you is always missing something. When I’m in Germany, I miss the silence of the Yukon woods. When I’m in the Yukon, I miss my family, the street I grew up in.

Over time, I’ve realized that home isn’t one single place on a map.
It’s a collection of moments, people, and memories that live inside you.
Home becomes the sum of everywhere you’ve grown, and the people who shaped you along the way.

If you live far from where you come from, you’re not alone in this tug-of-war.
It’s okay to miss the places that made you, even as you build something beautiful somewhere else.
It’s okay to grieve what you can’t have every day — the spontaneous coffee with your mom, the easy laughter with your brother, the street that still remembers your footsteps.

Missing something deeply is just another way of loving it deeply.
And maybe that’s what home really is — not a single place, but a feeling you learn to carry with you.

With love,
Sophie