“So, when do you go home.. or I guess, back to school?”
“I go home in one week.”
I don’t know exactly when it happened, but somewhere along the line, I stopped thinking of going back to the town that raised me as "going home." Sure, I miss the mountains, the necessity of green chili in nearly everything and, of course, my family, but at some point during my first year in college, Smalltown, New Mexico stopped being home.
I will forever be grateful for the lessons I’ve learned in this little ole’ town. I have had countless adventures, made phenomenal friends and I would not trade my adolescence for the world; but I am also thankful that I have moved on. I am thankful that I no longer feel tied there.
"Home" was green chili on my burgers, 2% humidity all the time, and strangers that are inevitably mutually connected. It was friends I’d known for as long as I could remember, and midnight jumps in the lake. It was coffee shop baristas who knew my name, order, and which roast I wanted.
My first semester of college had me calling my dad every other day asking him if there was any way he could come and visit. It was planning my vacations around when I could go back to New Mexico and when the last possible day was I could catch a flight to go back to school. But then, at some point during those trips back, I began to feel homesick for my new friends and all of my new adventures.
Here I am, sitting in the house that I have lived in for the last 12 years of my life, counting the days until I can go back to the town that has given me more life lessons, stronger friendships, worse days, and better stories in one year than I could have possibly gained in the 18 years that I spent in my hometown. This time last year, I was packing up my life and moving 800 miles to the Greatest State in the Union (aka Texas). It was full of tear-jerking goodbyes and stops along the way to get my fill of breakfast burritos, local coffee, and mountain sights. This time last year, I was terrified.
This time last year was the most frightening, rewarding, and surprising “hello” of my life. It just took me time to realize it. It took me coming back and feeling homesick for friends that already felt like family, and two a.m drives to Whataburger (because honey butter chicken biscuits might be one of the greatest creations ever). Home is where there are old cemeteries to explore, new sisters to meet and the breakfast tacos abound.
I am less than a week from making that hellacious drive again, but this time there is far less anxiety. I’m leaving behind my childhood friends and home, free laundry, and home cooking. Yet life is so good. I am beyond blessed to be on a campus that brings me so much joy, diversity, and acceptance. I don’t know exactly when my hometown stopped being my home, but I’ve been away for nearly three months and all I have to say is Georgetown, Texas, I’m coming for ya.
(I have to be honest though, I will never stop missing those New Mexico sunsets, Texas is great but I'm just saying.)
