I grew up in a small ocean view town in Eastern Massachusetts; right on the water, a picturesque tourist trap. The beach is five minutes away, there's a little shop for literally anything and everything downtown, beautiful boardwalk and thriving grassy waterfront areas. It's like living in a dream world sometimes honestly, when you ignore all the political and subliminal hierarchy present in all small towns. Having lived in this area basically my entire life it's one of my favorite places in the whole world. It's where I went to school, met all my friends, had my first kiss, learned to drive and where I learned small town life just wasn't for me.
When I was younger I was always obsessed with New York. Aside from my very short lived dream of being a vet, I had always wanted to become a writer and move out to New York. And because I couldn't get any more stereotypical, I used to lust after the fabulous life of Carrie Bradshaw, the trivial six pack from Friends, and just about any other New York based sitcom. Seeing how glamorous and wonderful city life all appeared made me want nothing to do with my small town.
Here I was just Erin, everyone knew me and my family; I felt trapped in this little bubble with no escape it seemed at times. So when college came I looked at a lot of New York schools, and ended up at a nice little one, just outside Manhattan in the Bronx. I fell in love with the campus, it was perfect; small, right on the Hudson, and just beautiful, with the city just a train ride away. It was everything I ever wanted. It looked like home, even if I wouldn't admit it for another few months.
When I left for New York, I couldn't wait to leave, start my life in the place I'd been dreaming about for years. But it wasn't until I was packing up my life to move 5-6 hours away that I started realizing just how much I loved my home, and the place I grew up. I knew New York was where I wanted to be, but home was familiar, and safe, and not a concrete jungle. But I left, terrified and homesick the moment the car door shut in my driveway.
As much as I knew New York was for me, and truly I did right down to my soul, I still spent my first month missing everyone and everything at home, but refused to admit it. The idea of giving up on New York so quickly hurt my pride too much to give in, so I stuck it out for a month then finally came home. And honestly, almost cried just crossing the border from Connecticut to Massachusetts. I missed the beach, the quiet, my family and friends, and everything about home in my town.
So maybe small town life isn't for me, but it is a huge part of who I am. I love knowing my community, and being a part of it, and enjoying the little things it has to offer you like, walks on the beach at 2 a.m., and being more scared of being pulled over because the officer might know my grandfather rather than a ticket, and living alongside thousands of years of history. I wouldn't have wanted to grow up anywhere else.
And after a weekend home I was ready to get back to my other home, in New York. I just needed a little recharge, some time away to appreciate where I came from and where I was headed. My mom, who was an army brat and no stranger to moving, told me "Bloom where you are planted." So I did, and now I have two gardens that I call home.
