When I went to see Christopher Nolan’s “The Odyssey,” I was mostly looking forward to the cinematography. The sweeping landscapes. The mythical creatures. The adventure.

I expected to be entertained.

I didn’t expect to leave the theater thinking about my own life.

Like most people, I knew the broad strokes of Homer’s epic. A war hero spends 10 years trying to get home after the Trojan War, battling storms, monsters, gods, and every imaginable obstacle along the way.

What I hadn’t appreciated before is that the real journey isn’t across the sea.

It’s within Odysseus himself.

The man who leaves for war isn’t the man who returns. He couldn’t be. Too much has happened. Too much has been lost. Too much has been learned.

As I watched his journey unfold, I realized that’s true for all of us.

My Own Journey

A few years ago, my own life took an unexpected turn. After nearly 40 years of marriage, I found myself starting over. 

Then came another relationship that ultimately wasn’t right for me. Along the way, some of my closest family relationships became more complicated, too. 

I had to learn that loving people doesn’t mean always agreeing with them—or abandoning your own needs to keep the peace. Sometimes finding your way means setting boundaries with the very people you most want to stay connected to.

Injuries forced me to stop playing tennis. Friends died. My cat died. My work dried up.

There were moments when it felt like I’d been blown off course, wondering where—or even who—home was anymore.

But here’s the funny thing about getting knocked off your planned route.

Sometimes you discover places you never would have visited otherwise.

The past eight months, I’ve wandered through Chicago neighborhoods I’d somehow never explored after living just north of the city for more than 30 years. I’ve taken a painting class after not painting since childhood. 

I joined OLLI study groups that had me reading Irish short stories and learning about the industry titans and philanthropists that shaped Chicago who are buried in Graceland Cemetery. 

I stepped onto the storytelling stage. I made new friends. I started writing a novel. I went to museums, jazz clubs, plays, and outdoor concerts. I even shot guns at a gun range.

Many of those experiences weren’t on my original life itinerary, but I’m grateful they are now.

Home Isn’t Simply Where You Live

One line from the film has stayed with me: “The power of the sacrifice is in the cost of the person making it.”

That feels true far beyond the story of Odysseus.

Every meaningful change asks something of us.

Leaving a relationship costs certainty. Setting boundaries can cost approval. Choosing yourself can cost comfort. Those sacrifices are painful because they matter.

But sometimes staying where you are would cost even more.

Watching Odysseus struggle toward Ithaca, I realized I’ve been thinking about “home” too narrowly.

Home isn’t simply where you live.

It isn’t even another person.

Home is the place where you no longer have to edit yourself.

It’s where your curiosity is celebrated instead of tolerated. Where your stories are welcomed. Where your quirks are appreciated. 

Your family and friends are accepted for who they are. Where you can laugh loudly, ask too many questions, chase new experiences, and continue becoming who you’re meant to be.

I’ve spent much of the past year rediscovering that version of myself.

Maybe that’s why “The Odyssey” has endured for nearly 3,000 years. Because it’s not really about defeating monsters or pleasing the gods.

It’s about becoming the person who can finally come home.

And maybe that’s the journey all of us are on, whether we realize it or not.