This past weekend, my family and I made a trip down to Southern Wisconsin near where I grew up. We were visiting for a graduation party in Illinois, but on our way back to Northwestern Wisconsin where I live now, we took the highway that goes through my birthplace. My family had moved away ten years ago and I had only seen my true hometown two other times since.
I was in the driver’s seat rolling down a county highway and the sun was setting. My heart was on fire for the scenery: Rolling hills and farmland where dairy cows grazed in the long grass, pine trees stood amongst the farm houses and rivers flowing at the bottom of the valleys. This was my homeland, which differed greatly from the area I lived in now that was relatively flat and unmemorable.
After navigating the country, we came to my hometown. It was my first time driving through it because when we had visited before I didn’t have my license. I still remember the streets like I do the veins in my wrist and I turned down the road that led to my first house. The brick, the siding, and the landscape was all the same and I felt as though I had taken a time machine back to the past. I could picture myself as a little girl with my little sister where we played in the front yard with the dog we grew up with. That front stoop is where my best friend and I smeared mud on our faces during a rainy day. That side window is the window Mom told me to climb through to unlock the door because we had locked ourselves out. I could still see my childhood in that house, I could see my baby roots still wrapped around that house.
My dad said, “Nothing has changed, except the people.” He was right. The town was exactly the same. It has stayed true to itself: The buildings are very historic and the town is known for its unique and welcoming main street. I drove downtown, and in each shop window I could see myself being shaped as a little girl. I think when I was little, its charm would slip into my subconscious, like a parent telling a child a secret they don’t understand until they’re older. Revisiting it as an adult, I could see parts of myself in this town, the place where I learned the most innocent lessons.
Driving away from my hometown, the events of the last ten years zipped through my mind like scenes on a movie reel. So many places, new houses, different people. The lessons I learned would never have crossed my path had I not left my birthplace. Revisiting the place I first planted my roots did not make me regret leaving; rather, it made me grateful. Each genuine, historic building I drove past reminded me that I should stay true to myself just as they do.
It doesn’t matter where you come from, whether it’s a huge city with skyscrapers or a tiny town with just one main road, but it does matter that you acknowledge where you come from. Maybe you were quick to leave your birthplace because of certain reasons. Maybe you have left just recently because you couldn’t bear to leave where your roots are planted. But it’s true that almost everything you learned or didn’t learn there has shaped you. The place you began has power. Revisit that place, and you may begin to understand yourself even better.
