If you had asked me any time last year, I would’ve said I hated my hometown. I would’ve said I was excited to get out, and that as soon as I was gone, I’d never want to come back. While I was absolutely excited to get away for college, I didn’t and don’t hate my hometown—the fact of the matter was, I had just outgrown it.

For some people, where they grew up is the place they’re going to stay, and that’s great. The beauty of being a young adult is that for now, life is about us—we don’t have families relying on us to support them. We do what’s going make us happy, and if that’s staying close to home, that’s fantastic. However, for some of us, that isn’t what we want—we outgrow our hometown, and one day we can’t wait to get out into the world.

Growing up in a small town was great. I have memories I will always cherish, especially being the oldest of four children. We lived right in town and my summers were spent riding bikes around the neighborhood with my best friend and our brothers. We’d wake up sore from riding the day before, but still we’d go out again as long as the sun was shining. When I wasn’t riding bikes I was in the library, playing on a computer or in a back corner reading some book I pulled off the shelf, hoping I could finish it then and there without having to check it out (I had some overdue fines I was trying to avoid reminding the librarians of). The cashier at the gas station down the street knew my brothers and I by name, and never had a problem helping us out if we were short a few cents here and there. As a matter of fact, that gas station was where my addiction to diet coke really started.

That house and those streets saw many big moments in my life—from my first love and the heartbreak(s) that came with him, to countless dances, birthdays, get-togethers with family friends, and cookouts for sports teams we were on . . .of course our parents were coaches. I even had a paper route on our street (although briefly). As we got older, things started to seem smaller—I couldn’t go anywhere without seeing someone I knew, whether it was the store, the Dairy Queen, or the gas station—but I still didn’t mind. My town represented childhood for me, and I was content to stay in that phase as long as I could hold onto it.

I fell in love the first time my dad took me to Chicago. While we had gone on vacations and trips, something about being in the Windy City really stuck with me, and at that moment I knew I wouldn’t stick around. From then, on I grew. I faced obstacles that in turn gave me the opportunity to become comfortable with who I was, and that was definitely not someone who was going to stay in her hometown. Suddenly knowing everyone felt stifling. I hated going places because I knew the inevitability of seeing someone I knew, and I didn’t want that. I wasn’t the same girl hanging on to being young—I wanted to just get on with it, and move on to the next phase of my life.

For my last few years of high school, and even my first year of college, I said I hated my hometown. If you had asked me, I would’ve rolled my eyes and blown it off. But after some time away, I’ve realized that I don’t hate my hometown--and I never did. The streets of Clinton gave me memories I will always hold on to and a type of childhood I hope my children will get the chance to enjoy; but sometimes we outgrow things, and that’s okay.

My hometown is amazing, and a part of me will always be there--no matter how far I go.