She Writes to Remember

For my first post, I thought it was fitting to talk about the big decision I made that felt both like the culmination of everything I have done in my adult life thus far, while also feeling like I was giving up on the life I’d worked so hard to build.

When I was in middle school, my friend’s older sister was going through the difficult decision of picking a college. She ended up going to Arizona State University, well over a thousand miles from our small Washington State town. This absolutely blew my mind.

I had no idea that was even an option. Going out of state? Leaving home? Choosing to live in a place that you weren’t born in? The very idea made me so excited that I immediately started planning. From that time on, whenever anyone asked me where I was thinking of going to school, all I could tell them was that it wasn’t going to be here.

The next years of my life were spent constantly researching colleges, big and small, in every corner of the country. I wanted to do politics, so I looked to DC. But, New York was pretty much the coolest place in the world to young me, so I looked at every possible school there. My junior year, I convinced my mom to take me on a trip to NYC so we could explore the schools.

Unfortunately, reality remained a thing, and I eventually discovered that I was not the type of person who was from a family that could afford any school I wanted. So, the list started to change. Eventually, I decided to go to University of New Mexico. A modest state school that was plenty far from home, while being even cheaper than the in-state tuition for most Washington schools.

I was there for two years. The first semester was fall of 2020, so everything was online, and all my friends were either from my job at Starbucks, or other kids so eager for college that we lived in the dorms, despite having no in-person classes. The second semester, I got a boyfriend, which lasted about 18 terrible months–but that’s a story for a different time.

My sophomore year was mostly in-person, but I struggled mentally. I missed classes. I struggled to learn about the parties. I found myself wishing I was home and looking for any excuse to leave, or have people come to me. I didn’t think I could make it four years living that way.

So, I tried to find an out. Not for forever, but I needed a break. So, I applied to a Congressional internship program through my school, and the Disney College Program. I got both. For better or worse, I decided to pack my bags and spend the next fall semester in the nation’s capitol.

I decided that was where I was meant to be. I worked with my advisor and graduated a year early and completely remotely. The next three years of my life were spent interning and then working for members of Congress.

But, I missed home. All of the reasons I had wanted to run away for years had slowly changed to look like everything I missed. The gloomy weather seemed like a welcome blanket. Being surrounded by family meant constant company, instead of a burden. I wanted to go back.

I applied for law school, and I got in to plenty, all over the country. But, it was time for me to go home. So, I did. About five months ago I drove across the country with my parents and my cat, and I moved into a house with my brother and his friend.

I remember why I came home. I’m happy I did. But, I also remember why I left. There’s a lot of pain that’s come back, things that I thought I had got over, but it turns out, I just didn’t have to face those things when I was far away. There are reminders everywhere here.

People here all have their own lives that they were used to living without me. They used to see every few months, so that is still how they think of me. Someone who pops in and then pops out. For me, I’d seen these people as the ones who grounded me, who knew me better than anyone, who were part of my home. But to them, I’d become a visitor. I’m not sure if it’ll ever fully change. I didn’t think moving home would still mean starting from scratch, it’s just a very different set of ingredients.

So, I’m home. I imagine I’ll stay here, and I am lucky to do so, I really think. But the version of me that ran, she still exists. I don’t want to be letting her down by coming home. I hope I didn’t.

It feels like there’s all these different versions of me coming together to form this current person. Instead of being a logical evolution, it feels as though I picked myself up and threw me into a new environment, right as a I was starting to adapt. Now, there’s torn roots all over, and I’m trying to shove them into this ground, after telling myself for years this was the worst soil in the world.

Analogies may not be my thing. Something to work on.

I miss who I was, yet I’m the person that I’ve always been. I’m home, but it bears such little resemblance to the one I knew ten years ago. I’m the same person I was last year, but everything about my daily life has completely changed.

I hope someone out there who moved back home after years away can read this and resonate, even if just for a line or two. Here’s to my first post!