To be a ger is to be always a foreigner everywhere you go.
"Ger" literally speaking, meant "foreigner" or "stranger" before it ever meant "convert," and in some texts still means that. Famously the Jewish people is described as being "gerim" in the land of Egypt. Does that mean we were converts in Egypt? No. We were foreigners - strangers whose rights were easily taken away and oppressed, and this is why we are commanded to be kind to foreigners. But there is the rabbinic double meaning of "convert," and the Jewish people is commanded to love converts as well.
But I would argue that there is an element of foreigness to our conversions as well. We are always in some ways immigrants to Am Yisrael. For some of us that may simply have been the experience of it being a paperwork issue, and culturally you have always been at home here.
But for many gerim, we come from outside. We come for any number of reasons, finding our way here through the intuition of our neshama, by chance or by luck, by family or friendship, by allyship, by exposure to Torah or exposure to the Shechinah - or any combination of the above and more.
But we come to the Jewish people asking for shelter and connection. Some of us come with a whole pedigree of Jewish studies and deep prior connections, and some of us come as refugees from other faiths and cultures, with nothing but the spiritual shirt on our backs and dreams of a better future.
And over time, we assimilate. We readily learn the culture and the language and the customs. We learn to cook the food and to follow the laws. We change our clothes to fit with our community and we move to the neighborhood where the other Jews live so we can walk to shul. We reshape ourselves into yiddishkeit and work hard to naturalize.
And eventually we do! We become part of the fabric of the Jewish people forever - having changed our whole lives and changing the shape of the Jewish people in turn. But our roots always lead back to this process. That's not a bad thing or a lack of authenticity - just take a look at the stories of naturalized citizens and you'll see the pride and strength they bring to their new nation. Even so, we are, and always will be, foreign immigrants to this community. Our Hebrew will always have an accent. Our background will lack many of the early milestones that other Jews experience. Our stories and relationships to our families will always be different. You will feel that sometimes. That's okay! That's normal, even years later.
What caught me a bit off-guard, though, is how much part of being a Jew in the diaspora is to always, in some way, be a foreigner also. It seems obvious enough, right? But I had never fully connected that feeling of foreigness from my conversion in to the perpetual foreigness of Jewishness that takes root from our conversion out.
Because once you leave, once you change your culture, you become an outsider and a foreigner to the dominant non-Jewish culture around you. You sound different. You dress different. People perceive you differently and you in turn react differently. You have changed your culture, and in so doing, become a cultural outsider.
There's a bit of ennui to it sometimes, I've found, of always being on the periphery. We are joining, have joined, a liminal people and yet are liminal people even within that people. This is nothing to do with active exclusion — many of us are lucky enough to have found ourselves ensconced in wonderfully welcoming communities that treat us as valued members of the tribe. Rather, it's much more just a practical reality of being a person who left behind one culture and assimilated into another. You can never fully sever your roots any more than you can rewrite the past, but you have also changed so deeply that to return would not be any more possible than returning to a past iteration of yourself. That person is gone, and you are new, and you have become something different, and you are from There and have come Here, and in so doing, a part of you will always be a ger, a traveler, a foreigner, a stranger, and the only thing you can do is embrace it.
What we mean by "home" is always so interesting, isn't it?