There's a particular quote from Harry Potter (and the Deathly Hallows Part 1, in case you want to get technical) that I always found underrated. In the Forest of Dean, Hermione reminisces to Harry, saying, "It's just how I remember it. The trees, the river, everything. Like, nothing's changed. Not true, of course. Everything's changed." Sure, she might be referring to a simpler time before a power-hungry wizard launched a mass genocide, but I personally find it relatable on a much smaller scale.

See, this quote always pops into my head whenever I get the chance to go home to south Jersey. Nowadays, with no house or immediate family in the area, it's a rare occasion. Maybe two times a year if I'm lucky. With these visits becoming few and far between, I always get a little anxious returning to the area, bracing myself for the unavoidable disappointment that'll come with any changes to my hometown.

Except, everything always seems the same. The Iron Skillet restaurant always greets me as soon as I take my exit off the Turnpike. On 295, the familiar staties are perched alongside the highway, and once I get on 38, I pass the Moorestown mall where I used to throw my spare pennies in the food court fountain, the boutique where I got my senior year prom dress and the empty Aldi's parking lot where I practiced driving before I got my permit.

Keep going and take the first exit of the Cherry Hill circle for Coles Avenue. Enter Maple Shade, the town I grew up in before my sixth grade move to Pennsauken. Pass the Custard Stand with the line backed up to the street. Pass the Alden Cafe, then Montegrillo's and Fontana's where a slew of preteens are hanging outside (my younger self included) until you finally reach the clock tower and gazebo at the intersection of Main Street and Forklanding - right where I had my first kiss. Stop at Wawa for probably the third time that day, passing the old guys smoking their cigarettes and drinking their coffees right outside the door. Pass Aces, your old childhood friends' homes, your current best friend's home and all these old hangout spots that you know like the back of your hand, resurfacing like a flood of memories. Seeing all of these places and realizing how little they've changed over the course of my absence makes me think that everything is relatively still the same. But that's, "not true, of course. Everything's changed."

Within the single week that I'm home, finding time to see all the people that I want practically means cramming them into a time slot that works best for both of us, almost as if our casual hangout is more like a scheduled appointment. We meet up, apologize for keeping in touch sparingly and then quickly launch into a fully detailed recap of what's happened in our lives since we last talked. While I love doing this, hearing what's happened in the past eight months in a quick eight minute conversation makes me realize just how much I miss while I'm gone: like this couple broke up, these two started dating, she's no longer friends with this group, he dropped out of school and so on. People's lives haven't come to a screeching halt. Rather, they're busier than ever. They're growing up, making decisions for themselves and continuously changing to become the person they want to be. And the more I think about it, the more I realize I'm doing the same. I can't expect people's lives to be exactly the same as they were two years ago when even my own isn't.

I spent the first 18 years of my life wishing to escape Maple Shade and south Jersey, and now that that's come true, there's nothing I want more than to go back. I want to be able to hang out with my friends for more than one party at a time, or go to WaWa whenever I'm indecisive on what I want to eat, or see people I haven't since graduation that I now live vicariously through on Instagram or even get Dunkin' on a Saturday morning with my best friend and her family like we used to do weekly. I want to experience it all, and for longer than one crammed week at a time.

I can't expect my friends' lives nor my own to come to a standstill. We'll both continue on with what we're doing, send the occasional snap or text when we see something that reminds us of the other and then count down the days until I'm home next.

And in the meantime, I'll make sure to never take anything for granted again.