every time i go home (back to pa) i feel more and more like a visitor. less and less like home. less and less a part of the tides of change that occur without me. im changing plenty, but it's a separate track from everyone that i keep seeing and leaving, seeing and leaving. and my parents living in a different city than where i grew up, though still wonderful, lends itself to the separated feeling. it's my new room, but i never sleep in it. the "guests" get it even when i'm there, and i'm up in the attic. everyone stops by to see us, throwing off their normal week to see the far-away ones who are in town. and it's flattering. it just makes everything feel fleeting. im not skilled enough at long distance communication to stay close and up to date with anyone in pa. im not skilled enough at no-distance communication to stay close to anyone in indiana. so with at least two physical homes at a time and an unfortunate talent at keeping people an arm's distance and a smile away, trips home are rejuvenating and nostalgic but simultaneously disheartening and alienating. explain that one.
as i was driving out of town this morning in the sunshine, wondering why i couldn't stop crying, i remembered that i didn't have to keep leaving. but i decided a long time ago that i would, and it was a brave and hard choice back then- that plenty of others never try. and every time i have to make the final round of hugs goodbye, it's a brave and hard choice that i somehow stick to. i could always stay and settle and make one place home. but i would always wonder and imagine what if. my parents did it before me. and they left. without the college and with more independence and even farther distances. and they turned out a-ok.
at least that's how it makes sense to me.
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