I come from a small town that sucks everyone in that goes there. With the big lake, the ski mountain, the small schools, the tight-knit community, people generally like to be there. I know I do, everything I love is there. My sport, my pets, my family, my work. And as sick of being stuck in a small town as I can get, I always miss it when I’m gone. I miss the endless woods and fields, and the random spots with no cell service. I miss the sunsets. I miss big old Lake Winnipesaukee and even the restaurants packed with tourists.
Of course, I like being here, on a big campus with plenty of people to make friends with and lots to do, but it’s never going to compare to my quiet small town.
So, I force my mom to send me pictures of my dogs. I listen to music that reminds me of home. I talk to my friends from home about homey things. I do all of the things I can possibly do to feel at home in a small dorm room in a totally different town. I don’t hang up many pictures from home because I don’t want to miss it too much. But when I need to, I look through my pictures. And occasionally, I go home to soak it all in for a weekend. It’s a refresher to be able to go back, breathe in the clean air and see all of the sights I’ve seen a thousand and one times but never seem to get old.
Going home I see things change, leaves changing and the weather changing. And then all of a sudden I notice that the old Cinema that was always a classic, always small and worn down, is being torn down, and built back up three times bigger, and four times fancier. But I’d rather have it kept in it’s old way. I realize that my puppy is no longer a puppy. New houses are built and long time neighbors have moved away. But regardless, it’s never less of my home. Driving around with my friends still feels the same. Even though the beach may be filled with different people and even though the park may have newer swings, it all still gives me the same sense of nostalgia. My home is my home. It’s always going to be the place I run back to in the end.