The last time I was home was June of 1998. I finished eighth grade. I went to Disney World. I took a Spanish placement test for a Regent's course I would never take because - come July - I moved to Connecticut where no one - not even school administrators - knew what the hey Regent's was. (Ah, New England. So charming in its own insular way...)
Fourteen year-old Sarah would continue this post as a diatribe on the horrors of moving two months before starting high school, but fourteen year-old Sarah also read too much Salinger and needed to put her copy of Jacob Have I Loved down before her tear ducts exploded. Thankfully, the intermediate thirteen years have decimated my ability to create/appreciate angst and drama, but the fact remains that since '98, I have lived in two countries, four states, and ten different houses/apartments/dorms rooms - an average of one move every 15 months. I think I'm in a pretty poplar boat as far as many of my peers go, but it doesn't change the fact that - for me - home is less of a place and more of a concept. Is it where my parents live? Is it where my desktop sits? (Huzzah for being set free from the tyranny of feeling obligated to cart a laptop around!) Is it where I'd rather be instead of where I am?
I bring this up because I had a very unexpected bout of homesickness recently. I'd been planning to spent this past week in New England for awhile now, but our plans changed last minute and Bert brought me up a few days early. In our flurry of last-minute packing, I suddenly realized I didn't want to go. (I should qualify that statement: I wanted to go, but I didn't want to leave. If you have any estrogen at all in your system, you will understand that that makes perfect sense.) I didn't want to leave Bert and - dare I say it - our home for a week. I wanted them to come too.
These pangs of homesickness didn't last too long - they petered out somewhere north of Scranton - but the fact remains that they shocked me by their very existence. I thought I was inoculated for this a long time ago. I don't consider NEPA or Connecticut home, which presents an odd question I have no answer for: what is home and where is it? Ideas?
Either you read my blog post a few days ago or we are peeking into each others brains! I've been going through some of the same thoughts lately...maybe its an age thing, I'm not sure. But I do remember meeting 14 year old Sarah when she first moved to CT (at a soccer movie night or sleep over I think...we watched The Goonies right?). I remember thinking how hard that must have been to move to a new state and start a new school in 9th grade.
ReplyDeleteOh man. I want to go, but I don't want to leave. I believe I have that exact same thought everytime I go visit my parents. I think the more we settle in a place, the more it feels like home. For example, I'll always miss my parents and wish we were closer, but Williamsburg is where my house and my dog and my husband are, so it feels more like "home" to me.
ReplyDeleteE: I did read your post, but not until after I wrote this! (I also wrote the next sleepover post before you commented, so it must be ESP. ;) It's just such a weird feeling. In hindsight, I wouldn't change anything for the world, but in the present, I don't really know what to make of it all, you know?
ReplyDeleteAnd I do vaguely remember watching The Goonies! First time ever. I was shocked I'd missed out on it for so long. ;) Moving was tough, but I definitely made it a whole lot worse for myself. (I do that sometimes...) But I survived. C'est la vie! :)
J: Are you guys still thinking about moving back to Salem at anytime? I know that was a thought at one point... Miss you. :) XO