that your days may be long in the land the Lord gives you

A week from today, I'll return to Olympia, the place of my birth, for the first time since June. Naturally, thoughts arise of home, and what exactly is meant by the "land the Lord gives you."
I was back in the Pacific Northwest for a little while in September, though I wasn't able to make it home, and everything felt foreign. I was no longer accustomed to the constant chill, the mud puddles, and the smell of hippies. I was rather surprised by the fact that it's perfectly acceptable to display Buddhist and Taoist imagery, but Christian icons get you dismissed as "the establishment." While I had grown up there, I no longer felt native.
I know that this is to be expected when you transplant yourself in a different part of the country. I have become partially integrated into the MidWest. I'll admit it, I like White Castle. I can name and identify all those states in the middle, and debate the differences between Cincinnati, Columbus, Indianapolis, St. Louis, Louisville, and all those other cities that seem derivative when you're on the Coasts.
Because all these things, I don't feel that any one place is truly mine. I wonder about the days being long in the land the Lord has given me, and I really don't know where that is. It makes sense; it's hard to feel rooted when you're no longer living in the culture you grew up in, but you're still a foreigner in your land of residence. I guess that's part of honoring your mother and father - acknowledging the affect family and upbringing in your sense of home.