Yesterday, I went for a jog around my neighborhood. It was sunny with that kind of light that sparkles on the sidewalk and between the leaves on the trees in the hours before dark. It's warm on the skin and accompanied by an easy, cool breeze. Everybody had those afternoons growing up, when school ends, homework is done, and you have time to lay on the grass and watch the sky as the sun goes down. That is, if you liked lying on the grass or watching the sun go down. Or (sometimes) put minimal effort into your homework, like I did, for the sake of free afternoon.

I found myself mentally wandering backwards as I ran past my old high school and middle school, past houses and lawns that have somehow become mine. When you're young, you assume that everything you see is yours; not in a material sense, but in the familiarity of everything around you, and how it becomes a part of who you are. It's simple like that. Not true, but simple.

I graduated this semester, and it's been four years since I've had a good look at my neighborhood. School signs have been updated from black and white to full-blown color. 7/11 bought out our local convenience store chain. Our old grocery store is also getting an update, complete with a brand-new Starbucks.

A thought began to stir in my head as my feet hit the pavement. Do I know the place where I grew up? It’s one thing to be a part of a community when you’re young. It’s a completely different experience when you’re an adult.

I ran by a few boys on bicycles on the opposite side of the street. High-schoolers. They looked so young to me now. And how must I seem? I am now the stranger, the older adult, the one with responsibilities (what fun) and a job (eventually) and a real, professional life (hopefully), someone who does adult things and thinks adult thoughts (that sounded better in my head, I was thinking finances).

I changed when I went to college. My hometown changed while I was away. Now that we’re stuck together, I wonder: do we really know each other?

It's very strange to a part of one community for years (like college, some 600 miles away) and return home to somewhere so familiar yet so foreign.

And this is where I start my life now, all over again.

It won’t be easy. I don’t think it will for any of us graduates. Finding a job, a gym, a church, a favorite spot for coffee, or new people to spend our Saturday mornings with. But that’s life, I guess. We’ve reached those unnecessary blank pages which separate Part One and Part Two. It’s the crossing over and bland, boring page-turning which brings us to not just a new chapter, but an entirely different literary division.

Experiencing my hometown as an adult is weird. And it’s probably going to stay that way until reality sinks in and the leaves turn fiery colors. When college begins again; when someone else will be in my favorite seat in my favorite class, wondering what it will be like to graduate and come back home.