I've been thinking a lot about home. Maybe it's because I spent a month away from it, or maybe because I was able to visit the home where I grew up, but it's been on my mind a lot the past couple of weeks. One of the most interesting things that came of our East Coast travels last month was a new perspective on where we live. If you've been reading for awhile, you know how much I love Arizona, but throughout my adult life I've always, always had a strong pull back to the East Coast.
Over many years and many family vacations we've visited and revisited the places in New Jersey, Vermont, and the surrounding states I spent my childhood in. And while doing so, I would almost always feel a desire to be there. I would come home from these trips wanting to look at rentals and real estate and talk to Hank about moving cross country. I would research the teaching certification process in New Jersey, or the doctoral programs at The University of Vermont. Dreams. When I take a step back I can see that there has always been a tiny sadness somewhere deep inside of me hinting at something unfinished out there. I moved at a tender, transformative age- right in the beginning of my teen years and about to finish middle school. The in-between years. I was lucky enough to have a great transition and really loved my new home in Arizona, but I can recall looking back to my old life, my old friends, and miss what was.
Perhaps that's why in my adult life I at times have had a hard time just saying goodbye or calling something "the end." I mean, I would do it, but internally it would always bother me. Over the years though I've managed to hone the fine art of letting go, and I'm pretty good at it now. It's easier for me to recognize something and say "okay, this season is done," and move on, although like anyone certain seasons or people or places can be harder to say goodbye to. But goodbyes are of course part of life...
So anyway, during our travels last month I had the opportunity to really immerse myself into the world I came from. We ate at our favorite places, drove down my beloved scenic roads, dipped our toes into the lake that's always made me the happiest. Nostalgia. For a whole month. But now, something was different. Gone was the longing to stay. Instead I felt happy to visit, this time with both of my boys, but I wasn't feeling a pull to pack up everyone and start a life in Shelburne, Jackson, or a million little towns in Maine. Somewhere along the past ten years, Prescott had officially became my home.
And it's weird because it really has felt like home for a lot of those ten years, but it wasn't until I was able to see how much I'd grown out of one thing and into the now that I accepted it. Or something like that. Regardless, it feels good to feel good about this. To feel like the dreams I have for my family are rooted securely somewhere solid, in a place we live in the town we call home. It's a relief to be where I want to be, and to know that I'm at a point in my life where I'm not wishing away my todays or tomorrows- I'm recognizing that some places are beautiful and magical via memory, and will probably always hold a special place for me, but in this season of our life, we're right where we should be. Right here at home.
