So, where's "somewhere"?

Exploring "somewhere", featuring Kaitlynne Rainne & Elle Warren

Including “somewhere” in my Substack publication title was a natural instinct. I didn’t come to this platform with a plan, I was simply intrigued by a space I knew next to nothing about, and made an account as one does. When the site asked me for a name, I brain-stormed internally, thinking about my travels from the past few months and my ties to particular places. “Somewhere” reflected the way I was moving through various parts of Southeast Asia while my friends just knew I was… somewhere. I also knew this would still be a fitting description if I were to write from my hometown or a future home of mine, because everywhere is somewhere… right?

While “somewhere” can be about a place, it can also indicate that what’s important is not actually the place at all. It revolves around feelings you have in places while names remain mysterious, locations stripped of their identities. To learn about a place as “somewhere” mirrors the way we read poetry written about strangers.

What does it really mean to us, to be somewhere? And would “nowhere” be its antonym? I’ve certainly felt like I’ve existed “nowhere” at times. I think many of us who grew up in small, seemingly unremarkable towns have felt this in our youth – yearning to be somewhere more significant. Now that I’m older, I don't see it this way, understanding there’s no hierarchy. I treasure places people haven’t heard of, and I believe in the unbeatable beauty of neighbourhoods you can only learn about by visiting, with all their history, loveliness, and mess.

Even with this grown attitude though, last year I found myself in a foreign suburb, looking around and fighting the belief I was in the middle of nowhere. Everywhere is somewhere, I told myself sternly. It just so happened that the eery silence of wide, open roads; the expansive land nobody was ever walking on; and the disappointingly cloudless sky, made me feel small in a way that unnerved me. It was bare yet all-consuming, so close to home culturally but 9000 miles away from where I grew up. And I resented my own apathy because I knew this was others’ home – others’ everything. So why do we do that – talk about places with dismissal, reducing somewhere to “nowhere” in our minds? And what about when feeling like you’re “nowhere” isn’t related to your Google maps location – it’s being stuck and unhappy with your routine. Feeling lost or depressed, and like nobody sees you.

While “nowhere” is dressed as an insult, perhaps our perception of “somewhere” relies on its next-door neighbour – if it has one – for such connotations: Somewhere Good vs. Somewhere Bad.

In The Wizard of Oz (1939), “somewhere” is aspirational because it’s somewhere over the rainbow and that must mean it’s better – bluer skies, greener grass, troubles melting. Through a queer lens (because we can’t ignore what it means to be a Friend of Dorothy), dreams of being somewhere over the rainbow illustrate a longing for rainbow acceptance, a place where we can openly be our authentic selves. But within Oz, we learn in Wicked (a musical I love so dearly) that the Emerald City – which promises to be somewhere our protagonists can belong – is home to an illusion leading to Elphaba’s defiance, with her going as far as to defy gravity itself. This “somewhere” paints her as a villain, and becomes somewhere undesirable. By the end of The Wizard of Oz, we learn the iconic line: “there’s no place like home”. It asks us, why do we dream of somewhere else, when we have here and we have now? For queer people, we know the answer. We want to be somewhere safer and better and we know that’s possible – much like Elphaba and Fiyero running away. But sometimes longing for “somewhere” comes from dissatisfaction, boredom, or envy, so much so we forget to be grateful for where we are.

I’m not the only person on Substack to gravitate towards “somewhere”, which is why I invited two writers to share with us their relationships with the concept: Kaitlynne Rainne from Somewhere, Somehow (obsessed with how our publication names are cousins) and Elle Warren from Getting Somewhere. I asked each of them a few questions:

How did you choose your publication name?

Kaitlynne:

“I wanted something that reflected the ever-evolving state of being in your 20s, from moving away from your hometown to college, to figuring out life post-graduation. We are always somewhere, somehow. It may not always be the place (geographically or metaphorically in life) that we want, but it’s a part of that journey of becoming. But by acknowledging that at any given point, we will get to our destination, the place that feels like home, somewhere and somehow, I think that honors the journey well.

I’m currently in a place in life where I still don’t think I’ve been able to set up my roots or foundation. “Somewhere, Somehow” reflects that. I also wanted my publication name to encompass all the emotions that come post-grad. Am I going to get to where I need to be? Am I where I want to be? How is that going to happen?

As a writer, I also didn’t want to niche myself down too much. I wanted to feel free to write pieces on a range of topics that spoke to this phase of life I’m in, without having to worry about my publication name not reflecting that. I think “Somewhere, Somehow” reflects those topics that any 20-something tends to ask themselves regarding life and their career, and creativity.”

Elle:

“I chose my publication name as a way to categorize where I felt like I was in life, artistically and otherwise. I started my Substack in 2021, at 23. I'd recently graduated college, was at a more mentally stable place than I'd been the few years prior, and I had a chapbook of poems I was determined to get published (which did end up getting accepted for publication in 2022). I didn't feel like I'd necessarily arrived anywhere, but I did feel like I was getting somewhere.”

Right now, what does “somewhere” mean to you?

Kaitlynne:

“Right now, “somewhere” is southern, coastal Georgia in Savannah. But if I think about “somewhere” more metaphorically, it’s where I feel most at home without worry of being uprooted. Right now, I don’t know where that place is because there are parts of my heart scattered in different places. Places that have shaped my heart and with people who have made an impact on me. I know that will never change, but I want “somewhere” to be the place I feel most at home.”

Elle:

“Right now, I'm kind of trying to be less ambitious. Or rather, for my ambitions to include less negative self-talk, less unsustainable pressure, and more peace right now. All that to say, while the idea of "somewhere" still includes my dreams of making a living writing what I want to write, I'm also more interested in infusing the ever-elusive "somewhere" with being who I want to be in the now. And really appreciating the now, too.”

Can you tell us about somewhere that makes you feel nostalgic?

Kaitlynne:

“The waterfront in my hometown. It was a family ritual that almost every evening for dinner, we’d buy food from one of our favorite restaurants and get it to go. Then we’d drive out to the waterfront, park the car, and eat with the windows rolled down. Every time I think about it, I get teary-eyed because it was always a time for us to be a family and enjoy time together. I haven’t been home in two years, so I’ve really missed being able to do this with them.”

Elle:

“In addition to trying to be less ambitious, I'm also trying to be less nostalgic. That said, the place I'll probably always feel most nostalgic for is the house I grew up in. My parents sold it right after I graduated high school, and my mother got sick less than a year later. That house is not only the place that felt most familiar, it's also the place where my mother was only ever healthy and alive.”

Can you tell us about somewhere that makes you feel hopeful?

Kaitlynne:

“Boston. I don’t know what it is about this New England city, but I’ve been dreaming of it for years. I visited it two years ago for my 24th birthday, and I’ve wanted to move there ever since. I wandered the Boston Public Library with my boyfriend, walked through Boston Commons, and every corner of the city felt alive. It woke up something in me I’d been searching for since I graduated. I felt like there was so much potential for me. I’ve visited two other times since, and every time I go back, I’m awed by the city and dreaming and hoping for the day I get to call it home.”

Elle:

“Every year since years before I was born, my family rents this rustic cottage in northern Michigan for a week. It's on a lot with about a dozen other cabins, with a small beachfront on an inland lake and some playground equipment. In the three-ish decades my family has been going there, the place has changed very little. Against that steady backdrop, it's impossible not to reflect every year on the ways I've changed, the way life has. This place gives me hope that I can "handle the seasons of my life," so to speak, and that there are physical spaces that can carry me through.”

Photo of Kaitlynne, somewhere!

Photo of Elle, somewhere!

I admire both of these writers very much, especially for their ambition whilst still remaining appreciative of the “right now”. It’s shown in Kaitlynne and Elle’s answers that “somewhere” can represent success. It can be a destination, but not the kind you buy a train ticket to. Somewhere isn’t just about dreaming of arriving somewhere different like Dorothy does, it’s about building somewhere different and taking control of your life. And crucially, to be in the middle of that process is to be somewhere important too.

I relate to what Kaitlynne writes about being in the process of becoming, but unlike many others, I can’t answer you when it comes to what I’m becoming, or where I’m trying to get to. While I find home in many moments and places, I cling to this concept of “somewhere” because home is ever-changing. Realistically, I still don’t know what the future holds for me, or even where my future will be held. I don’t live in spreadsheets and strategies, I live in flowing rivers and surprises. So there’s a comfort in knowing no matter what occurs, I will always be somewhere – the word tying my years and chapters together with satin ribbon, reminding me days are new gifts. I want to unwrap them, I don’t want to live like I'm waiting for something or somewhere else.

For some, somewhere is a desire born in broken homes – it’s necessary hope and optimism. For others, it’s a home they already have, and it has cream-coloured walls. Somewhere is the in-between, and the persistent act of trying – the all-important journey as well as the goal. Somewhere holds us and allows us to land softly – promises better and keeps our secrets safe. Somewhere is craved belief, refreshingly forgiving, and it’s an undefined space to stop, and breathe.

Sometimes, somewhere is row 1 of a plane, sat directly opposite cabin crew. One of them is a blonde woman laughing and the other is an older man quietly swearing. “Vienna” by Billy Joel is being sung in pink headphones and the way you move with the plane feels like a film scene.

You’ve shared a few awkward half-smiles with the blonde woman facing you, so you try to avoid eye contact now. Your focus is on a cupboard, rattling with take-off, and you accidentally find yourself smiling into space. Of course you do, because you’re alive and on a plane, going to visit your girlfriend. You get to queue your favourite songs – old and new ones, “Vienna” by Billy Joel and Cat Burns’ “Sad Forever”. You’re going somewhere, but you’re somewhere now too, with a full flight of people – passengers, a pilot, and members of cabin crew.

You look across at the window. You’re somewhere in the clouds.

Photo of me, Somewhere Good (taken a few years ago in my lovely Aberystwyth)

More from me:

This is the life

When languages are homes, but I've never left mine