it’s funny…

:home:  the place in which one’s domestic affections are centered

It’s funny how when you’re living at home (in your parents basement) the only thing you think about is how you will get out into the world again. On your own. Paying your rent. Having your own space. And even when you do finally leave the nest you know this is the best decision you’ve ever made. Now here’s the funny part. It’s not until the time you go back to visit home that you realize how much you love it there. The feelings of comfort and familiarity are palpable and you can really breathe.

It’s funny when the place you’ve finally gotten away from is the place you never want to leave again. 

But you know it’s only an illusion. You know that you love it this much because you get to leave in a week and return to the new life you’re building. You’ve lived here for years and there wasn’t much for you and that hasn’t changed since you left. Maybe someday it will, but not yet. So you just sit back and enjoy it. Every minute of it. You see the people you haven’t seen in months and catch up on all the goings-ons of the town. You visit your favorite food spots and eat way too much, all the while knowing that you could very well still be here, doing these things. It just wouldn’t be the same.

It’s better to love this place from a distance. To know that it will always be there when you need it. When I need it. Back in college I didn’t appreciate home when I was there or away. My life in Florida was all I wanted to do and I couldn’t wait to get back there. Even when I moved back home after college I dreaded it. Not only was I moving back in with my parents but I had already been to college and seen what else was out there for me. It was a rough time. When I moved to the city I still didn’t think I would miss it. I was so ready to move on to the next chapter of my life and give it my all. All that changed the minute I stepped foot in my home. It felt like any other night before. Sneaking through the house to get to my bedroom, avoiding the squeaky boards so I didn’t wake my parents. It was all so familiar. By the middle of the week I started to forget that I even live in NYC. It was all so normal feeling and for a moment I let myself get caught up in it. I thought “hey, this could still be my life. I could do this”, but then a little voice in the back of my head reminded me of why I moved in the first place. As great as Oz was, Dorothy had to go back to Kansas….only in my case Oz is home and Kansas is NYC.

It’s funny how two, polar opposite places, can each make you feel complete.

WNY and NYC couldn’t be more different from each other. And yet, they each are fulfilling me in great ways. I love the fast pace life in the city. There’s always things to do, places to go, sites to see. There’s so much history here and I love being a part of it. My apartment is adorable and my jobs are two of the best I’ve ever had. I really love it. I care less about what people think of me here because Lord knows there is always someone crazier at the party. Home is…..home. It’s where my growing years were spent. Where I feel just right wearing a plaid shirt and driving my dads pick up truck around town. Fridays I go out to dinner with my Poppop for fish and Wednesdays are spent playing trivia at Applebees. I can go out with my boys and drink beers and eat wings and know that these guys have known me for longer than I can even remember and when we hug goodbye and say ‘I love you’ there’s not an ounce of subtext. We really love each other and I love that. Home is who I am. The roots of me. 

I’m glad that I’ve finally come around to loving home(my mother is too). I honestly never imagined that it would happen. Growing up there I was determined to leave and never look back and I never saw myself changing my mind  about that. But I have. I don’t know if I’ll ever move back there, life can be silly that way, but I do know that I will soak up every moment of it whenever I visit. It’s my rechargeable battery. My place to get back in touch with that side of myself.

It’s home.


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