Although I love spending time at my Boston “home,” there’s nothing quite like coming back to your hometown and spending time with family and friends. As soon as I could, I had planned a long weekend back to Virginia at the end of September – partly to get my fall and winter clothes and figure out how to move up the rest of my stuff, and partly because America’s First Region is a rockin’ place to be and I (usually) genuinely enjoy it.
The mini-vacation was pretty much perfect: about 4.5 days spent sleeping in, reading, watching TV, and enjoying time with my best friends who still live in the area.
A few very important things also came to light. While going through boxes of my belongings, my friend Jenny and I stumbled upon my old elementary school yearbooks and delighted in finding the photos of our friends, namely this classy broad:
We also discovered, while flipping through my 4th grade yearbook, that I literally cut out the picture and name of someone a grade older than me. Who did I obliterate with such a vengeance?! We cross-referenced it with my 3rd grade yearbook where I cut out this lad’s picture again but this time left the name. I have honestly no memory about why I cut out this person’s picture (who I knew well in high school, but have no younger memory of him). Was it hate or love? As Catullus says, “Odi et amo. Quare id faciam, fortasse requiris. Nescio. Sed fieri sentio et excrucior.” Amirite? (I’ve really just been looking for an excuse to include Latin in my blog, you guys. But it’s true.) Either way, I was clearly a very passionate little kid. I also violently scribbled out the names of my enemies and starred my friends. Even back then, I was apparently keeping a Grudge/Revenge/Dead to Me list.
Most importantly, I got to spend some lovely time roiling about in confusion. I naturally vacillated between the feeling of utter contentment in this home of mine and fear that I would crumble when I returned to Boston, and excitement about getting back to Boston and continuing to unpack my life and get everything set up. I am well known for taking transitions poorly; when I went to music camp for the first year (I AM SO COOL), I had such a nervous breakdown after the first week my parents had to bring me home. To be fair to me, I was only 12 and went back every year after that for the full length of time, but still. I’ve had many other instances since then where I have struggled against changes in my life and wanted to go back to what is familiar. That’s why I have been so surprised at my relatively smooth life I’ve established in Boston – no nervous breakdowns yet! (minus one in the middle of the Boston Commons, but that was partly related to TJ Maxx and hanger). I don’t know if it’s because I am lucky enough to have good friends who live there, I’ve moved so often and I’ve grown up enough to handle it, or I’ve spent so little time in one place for the last year that I’ve fooled myself into thinking it’s only temporary. Either way, I’m nervous as all get out to go back and see what will be different, and if I will be different.
Nothing to do but just jump in though, right?