As the end of the year draws closer and closer, it is becoming more apparent just how insane this year really has been. To be fair, most years take twists and turns that you don’t expect, but 2020 has been the equivalent of someone opening up Pandora’s box: full of surprises both desired and feared. In an effort to steer clear of all of that, I’ve really begun to cherish the time spent at home, and also reflected on a lot of past events that I hadn’t visited in a long time.
If you would have asked me two years ago what makes up the individual, I probably would have told you something like who they hang out with. This is true to extent, but spending time in my own home with the very few people I see and chat to regularly, I have come to realize an integral part of the individual that people often forget: their environment. As much as we might shrug it off, there’s something special about the first homes we had, the family memories we created, and the “good ol’ times”, because they were just that.
Life moves fast and people fly free of the nest, but the urge to return home comes and goes. For me, 2020 made me realize just how much I missed the little things: hiking through the fall colors in the ravines, going down to the beach in fall clothes with no intentions to swim, going downtown and seeing Christmas decorations being put up, actually seeing friends of mine no matter where we actually end up being, and booking tickets to go visit family without worrying about some quarantine.
We all have that rebellious phase, the moment when we think what we have to do is leave the place we call home. I did that, went to college, found another place that I could call a quasi-home for the time being, and then went off to chase another place to try and feel like I was at home: Taiwan. Trust me when I say that all of these places are like second homes to me, but they can never equate to the memories I had growing up.
There’s nothing that can replace the feeling of waking up, glancing out the window and seeing people on Lake Geneva water skiing on a cool Saturday morning in June. Just as not a single opportunity will replace the sound of country music as you walk through the county fair, walking next to your family as you go to play carnival games. I’ve realized from all my travels, you’ll always find your way back home. And I’ll always be a Midwestern girl at heart, even if I prefer the beach for now and not having to drive through the snow.
We can move away from home as much as we want to, but there’s nothing like walking into a place you know and where people know who you are. As people, we’ll always change and adapt, becoming better and better, but at the root of it all, that nostalgia deep in our gut is reminding us not of the good times, but of the times that made us who we are, and will forever remain the foundation of who we truly are inside.
