Pulling into my driveway and stepping out of the car, I took a deep breath. It smelled like home. You can never quite describe this, yet, somehow everyone understands. Nostalgia flooded through me as I walked through the side door and set my shoes on the rack as I had every day after school. I felt the pit beginning to form in my stomach, but my mind turned to other things as I greeted my siblings for the first time. But as much as I suppressed the feeling I just couldn’t shake it: things are different now.
Walking into my room was like stepping back in time; a time capsule of my childhood: my corkboard filled with notes and pictures, my high school diploma on my bookshelf, and the dried-out corsage from junior prom. It was as though I had never left. One year prior I returned home after my first 8 weeks of college, aka the most chaotic period of my life. The day I first left home for Vassar, I looked around my room. I remember thinking, “When I’m back, everything will have changed.” And it had. Those 8 weeks were a blur of meeting new people, transitioning to living away from home, and playing lacrosse with a new team. My everyday people were different, priorities had shifted, and my extroversion maxed out. In those 8 weeks, I had gone from a resident of Greenoaks Drive to a student of Vassar College. Seeing my room again for the first time and subsequently remembering that moment of contemplation I had was all a bit jarring. Sure my room hadn’t changed, but I had.
Going downstairs the next morning, my family swarmed the kitchen, each moving independently as they went through their morning routines. Amidst the chaos of feeding the dogs and packing lunches, I joined in like I used to. But as everyone cleared out for work and school and I sat on my couch something seemed off. On a Tuesday morning, what was I doing sitting on my couch watching TV? It felt increasingly harder to ignore the empty feeling in my stomach. I felt it all over, all the time: driving past my old high school, passing through downtown, walking around my neighborhood. But what made me feel the most uneasy was that I was alone. Since few other colleges had a fall break, the rest of my friends were at their respective colleges. Their absence grew clear as everything at home became a reminder of them. In the grand scheme of things, I had simply never known home without my friends. It feels almost pathetic to say, but it’s true. My sleepy little town was made special by the people I shared it with. Besides my family of 5, I was here on my own. It wasn’t the home I knew.
I’m in my sophomore year and now back home for my second fall break. Since last October I’ve been back home several times: Thanksgiving, the winter holiday, and Summer. I’ve become accustomed to the readjustment of returning home from college. Coming back last fall I struggled with a wave of emotions: relief, nostalgia, confusion. Every break since these feelings have lessened to the point that coming home has become a thing I do rather than an emotion I feel. When I first returned it felt like I’d never left, like nothing changed, but now it’s obvious that it had. My family’s routine works among 4 people instead of 5. Although we revert to our old ways altogether, the pieces of their present routine seep through, such as the way they split up their chores or feed the dogs. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t feel wrong to me. At times I want to say “I’m here now” or “This is my house too.” But how can I blame them? I can’t expect them to drop everything and wait for me to come home so things can be as they were before I left. However, over time what used to be confusion is now an understanding. I’ve grown content with my life at school and comfortable in my new role at home. I’ve come to enjoy my “stay-at-home daughter” lifestyle when I visit and decided that my ideal vacation is just laying in my bed and eating a home-cooked meal. It’s silly in hindsight, but I know most college students can relate.
It aches less now, but the pit in my stomach lingers slightly. However, I’ve realized that this feeling I have is less about missing home, and more of a nostalgia for my hometown childhood that is no more. This nostalgia will only adapt as I enter new stages of my life. If you had told me a year ago how comfortable I would be in my life away from home, I’d be shocked. At the time my emotions regarding the situation felt insurmountable. However, time and my subsequent acceptance made the transition easier. Now, here I am writing to you as proof that this bittersweet reality is one that you can grow comfortable in. I guess this is the price we pay for growing up, but a price worth appreciating.