late night insecurities
I sometimes I have this desire to go home—not here, where I sleep each night, but home to where I grew up. I am fortunate enough that this option will always be available—I have a close relationship with mom and dad; I will always have a key to the door (not that they lock it). I’m also fortunate enough that home is only 2.5 hours away. I could go at anytime. But I don’t.
I just think about it and long for it.
It seems that when I get there, I’m reminded of how much I am not there—not how often I don’t return there, but how much of me is gone from there. Sure, I have boxes of books, rocks, and other material belongings, and yes, there are plenty of old family pictures, but we have moved on from those things. Everything is tainted with what we have grown into. It isn’t just my sisters and I catching up, it’s me, my two sisters and our three boyfriends. It’s grandmother urging us to get married and have children so she can see them (not thinking of how any of us (we’re all three in college) could care for a child). The creek I grew up playing in seems leagues smaller. The waterfall hardly seems to be a source of awe that it once was. A mile down the road, one of the farms was sold and a new subdivision is being built—the city is coming to mom and dad. Although the stars are as many and as bright as ever under the dark, rural sky, the sky itself seems smaller.
What pains me most about going back is leaving. Each time I come home, something is different. Each time I leave, I know something that was there will change by the time I get back. What is it that I’m holding on to? I’m not sure. My childhood I guess? Perhaps it is the finality of my educational career that frightens me---in a year, if things go well, I have my own classroom. I will have grown up in a sense that is more final than just moving away.
Although I never plan on growing up in the serious life style sense---I will always be a goofball, having fun going to six flags, hanging from tree branches, and learning more about me every day, I will have grown up in the sense that I am independent of mom and dad—not from their wisdom, but from …from….maybe i don’t really have the words for that. Are there any? Maybe I become less and less someone’s child and more and more an adult. Maybe I’m just a little scared that what I have wanted for a long time might not end up being what I wanted. maybe I just need a beer.
on a lighter note, i do know that my cat considers wherever i am as home. that adds a little stability.
I just think about it and long for it.
It seems that when I get there, I’m reminded of how much I am not there—not how often I don’t return there, but how much of me is gone from there. Sure, I have boxes of books, rocks, and other material belongings, and yes, there are plenty of old family pictures, but we have moved on from those things. Everything is tainted with what we have grown into. It isn’t just my sisters and I catching up, it’s me, my two sisters and our three boyfriends. It’s grandmother urging us to get married and have children so she can see them (not thinking of how any of us (we’re all three in college) could care for a child). The creek I grew up playing in seems leagues smaller. The waterfall hardly seems to be a source of awe that it once was. A mile down the road, one of the farms was sold and a new subdivision is being built—the city is coming to mom and dad. Although the stars are as many and as bright as ever under the dark, rural sky, the sky itself seems smaller.
What pains me most about going back is leaving. Each time I come home, something is different. Each time I leave, I know something that was there will change by the time I get back. What is it that I’m holding on to? I’m not sure. My childhood I guess? Perhaps it is the finality of my educational career that frightens me---in a year, if things go well, I have my own classroom. I will have grown up in a sense that is more final than just moving away.
Although I never plan on growing up in the serious life style sense---I will always be a goofball, having fun going to six flags, hanging from tree branches, and learning more about me every day, I will have grown up in the sense that I am independent of mom and dad—not from their wisdom, but from …from….maybe i don’t really have the words for that. Are there any? Maybe I become less and less someone’s child and more and more an adult. Maybe I’m just a little scared that what I have wanted for a long time might not end up being what I wanted. maybe I just need a beer.
on a lighter note, i do know that my cat considers wherever i am as home. that adds a little stability.
posted by Shy at 10:13 PM
5 Comments:
Understandable fears. I've made myself fairly neurotic with such worries the journal entry quoted in the post is a good example.
Stupid anon button. That was me.
new to this site, not realizing there was more than one author, i can't deny that i was slightly disappointed when i realized that "two sisters and three boyfriends" was uttered by a female, thus making this a heterosexual blog. i'm in the market for some gay bloggers.
Let me look in my left pocket. Nope on gay bloggers there. Shy as one can tell because she is a female who has a boyfriend is hetero. Joe Cool and I are geeks. That means we would be hetero if we could get away from our computers.
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