I went home, to Michigan, last weekend. I flew out Friday night and arrived in Detroit at 6 am on Saturday morning. My parents drove a long way to get me, and then drove me a long way home.
We sat in the sun. We swam in the lake. We went for walks.
We explored the forest around home. We drank light beer and Moscow Mules. I saw my sister and met her dog. I went to the beach and laughed with my oldest friends.
It was wonderful, but also a little sad. I came back to Seattle on Tuesday night, and was reluctant to leave. It’s not enough time, not ever, but especially not when I try to sneak in a weekend trip. I live too far away, the travel days are too long. I can’t just get bored, which is the whole point of going home, after all.
Sometimes, usually after a trip like this, I start to wonder why I live so far away. I’ve grown to love life in Seattle, at least most of the time, but I sort of wound up out here by chance. I like my job, and my friends, but I’m pretty alone out here. The city has a lot to offer, but I don’t take advantage of nearly enough. These are my fears, anyway – alone and wasting time.
At the same time, I’m proud of myself for moving across the country, weathering the storms that followed that move- unemployment, a break-up, loneliness – and making a life for myself out here. I can do what I wish with my life. I love so many parts of it. But some big parts of my life are hard to get to, my family of course, and my friends, but also the comfort of a small town, the lake stretching out to forever, and the smell of cedar trees and sand.
Going home is a reset button. Four days there makes me question not only where I live, but what I want to get out of my days. It’s a good thing to thing about.