There’s a quiet moment after you arrive in a new country. The bags are on the floor. The windows look out onto unfamiliar streets. Even your toothbrush feels like it doesn’t belong. I’ve been in that moment more than once.

The first time was in Rome, when I moved in with a host family as an au pair. I stood in the hallway of their apartment listening to the soft clang of a nearby tram and thinking, I have no idea what I’m doing. Everything felt foreign. Including me.

What I didn’t know at the time is that home doesn’t happen to you. You build it. Slowly, gently, and in your own way.

Start with something small

My first real sense of comfort came from a café. Just a tiny neighborhood spot where the same barista worked every morning. I didn’t speak much Italian, but we understood each other in that way people do when they see each other often. I would point to the same pastry and he would remember my coffee order. It was small, but it mattered. That five-minute exchange helped me feel rooted.

Wherever I’ve gone since then, whether to China or quiet Italian villages, I have always looked for those anchors. A morning walk. A fruit stand with friendly eyes. A particular corner of the park where the light feels just right. These moments start to build something steady.

Try the language, even just a little

I am not someone who learns languages quickly, but I do try. In Poggio Nativo, I practiced asking for tomatoes at the market. Pomodori, per favore. That was it. But the woman at the counter would smile and sometimes tell me what else was fresh. One day, she remembered my name. That moment meant more than I expected. I wasn’t fluent, but I was known. Even just a few words help. They show effort, and effort opens doors.

Let the adjustment take time

It’s easy to think you’re supposed to feel settled right away. But I’ve never known anyone who did. When I moved to China, I didn’t know how anything worked. Not the food, not the roads, not the rules. I didn’t try to force it. I just started noticing things. What people ordered. When they laughed. How they crossed the street. You don’t have to rush. Sometimes observation is enough. The rest will come.

Redefine what home means

I used to think home meant permanence. A place you stayed long enough to claim. Now I believe home is a feeling. It might be the sound of a market in the morning. It might be the view from a window or the exact way the sun touches your shoulder while you’re drinking tea. It might be someone handing you fruit and calling you by name. It is not about owning a place. It’s about belonging in it, even for a short while.

If you’ve just landed somewhere new and feel out of place, know that’s normal. You’re not doing anything wrong. Go outside. Say hello to someone. Find a corner café and return to it. Start with what you have. Eventually, without even realizing it, your toothbrush will look like it belongs. And one morning, you’ll open your eyes, stretch under unfamiliar sheets, and notice something different.

You feel at home.