November 16, 2016

It's strange being away from home so close to holidays.

When I have visited home on long weekends (or just any weekend) I noticed that things had definitely changed. The routine, space, and dynamic of the Weaver household had changed dramatically in my eyes. Life had moved on, just as it did for me here at the Abbey. My younger siblings, often referred to as "the little two", are now in high school, living the everyday drama that comes along with it.

This is one of the hardest changes I have ever experienced. My own life is beginning to shape itself into an almost tangible reality, and I feel caught between remembering where I have come from and striving for where I am headed. The pull to look backward is loosening as I continue walking forward, but I know that I would have never gotten to this point in my life without all I have experienced up to now.

As the holidays get closer and closer, my anticipation to return home increases to a level that cannot be ignored. The smells, the colors, the feeling of sharing time with the people who know you the most: these are only a fragment of the reasons I am itching for Thanksgiving to arrive. It's not only the love for tradition and good food, but the relief I feel to not have to worry about what I need to wear or what I need to say. There is no need to uphold a reputation when I am home.

It is strange to be away from home so close to the holidays because everything that comes along with them is at home. It's not something I can just pack up and bring with me to my dorm. It's something that cannot be grasped but only appreciated in the moment it's present. This "something" can be felt in fuzzy socks, the warmth of a fire, the tight hug from an old friend. I find this "something" to be most profoundly present in my family, both immediate and extended. It's in Steeler Sunday games with bean dip and pretzels; it's in the Friday Night Jazz Club dance parties in the living room; it's in the unbelievable ability to quote every movie ever made in one conversation; it's playing guitars into the early hours of the morning, singing songs that everyone knows the words to; and it's the beautiful, snorting laughter that is shared no matter how long it's been since we were all together.

It is strange to be away from home so close to the holidays because to me they are so much more than my own story. They are my family.

Always,

Frances McKinley