My Lebanon
Why I Came Back and Why I Would Do It Again
Anyone who has met me can place my accent within seconds. It is unmistakably American, and it almost always leads to the same question: Why on earth would you leave the US to live in Lebanon?
For years, I did not have a good answer. I had spent the first 30 years of my life abroad, built a life and started our family there. And yet something brought me back to Beirut. It took me several years of actually living here to understand what that something was.
What the United States Gave Me?
I will always be grateful for the country I grew up in. It gave me stability, an exceptional education, and an exposure to diversity and opportunity that shaped who I am in ways I am still discovering. Growing up, my father did his best to make us love Lebanon. He spoke about the coastline, the mountains, the warmth of the people. He lit up when he talked about this country.
But I was an American child. I knew that Colorado had great slopes, that Miami had beautiful beaches, and that the US had opportunities Lebanon could not compete with. My father's nostalgia was tender and real but it did not make sense to me,
It would take decades before it did.
What Brought Me Back
The decision to move to Lebanon was not the dream move I might have once imagined. It was, in part, practical, a way to minimize the distance within the family dynamic. I did not arrive expecting to fall in love with the country.
But I did, eventually. It was not immediate, and I will not pretend it was easy. The first years were a genuine struggle. The adjustment, the chaos, the gap between the Lebanon I had imagined and the Lebanon I was actually living in. It was disorienting in ways I had not prepared for. But somewhere in the middle of that struggle, something shifted. And then one day, without quite knowing when it happened, I realized I had fallen in love with this place.
What I found here was something I had not fully realized I was missing: roots.
There is a quote I have always loved , ‘like branches on a tree we all grow in different directions, but our roots are what keep us together.” I understood those words intellectually long before I understood them in my bones. Living in Lebanon taught me the difference.
What Roots Actually Mean
Roots are not sentimentality. They are not nostalgia for a version of a place that no longer exists. Roots are something far more grounding than that.
They are what you reach for when things fall apart. They are the source of your resilience, your sense of self, your understanding of where you came from and therefore who you are capable of becoming. When I watch people walk through their villages and stop to greet everyone they pass, when I see the Lebanese people find solidarity in the middle of crisis after crisis, I see what roots look like in practice. I see people who, despite everything, know who they are and where they belong.
That is not nothing. That is everything!
What Lebanon gives me and my family is something no other country can replicate, not because it is perfect, but because everyone around me shares the same foundation. There is a particular kind of ease that comes from being surrounded by people who understand your references, your humor, your grief, your celebrations, without needing an explanation.
The Argument I Cannot Win
When I say this to people, I am often told I am being sentimental. And then comes the line I cannot argue with: roots will not pay my bills.
They are right. I know they are right. Lebanon's political, economic, and environmental realities are not things I will romanticize or dismiss. They are serious, and they deserve serious attention.
But I also know what it feels like to grow up without a homeland to return to. To be from somewhere without fully belonging there. That particular longing is quiet but persistent, and it gave me a profound appreciation for what it means to finally feel at home.
What I Want Us to Remember
As we scroll through the headlines and the heartbreak that surrounds this country, I want to offer a gentle counterweight, not to minimize what is broken, but to remember what is still here.
The friendships that outlast geography. The family bonds that survive distance and difficulty. The ability to return after years away and soon feel like you never left. The shared values, the shared humor, the shared resilience of a people who have rebuilt themselves more times than they should have had to.
Belonging is not a luxury. It is a fundamental human need. And for all of its complexity, Lebanon gives that to those of us lucky enough to call it home.
We are all here for the same reason, whether we say it out loud or not.
We came back because this is where our roots are. And roots, it turns out, matter more than we ever thought they would.
