It’s so cliche – the saying “You can’t go home again.” But the truth is obviously you can. People do it all the time. Holidays especially, they make the trip to their parents houses, the places they remember their childhoods. Reliving the memories from growing up.
I’m no exception. I came home yesterday – only the second time I’ve been home this year. The first time I’ve been back alone, and there is something liberating, yet utterly melancholy about it. Being home reminds me of who I was, but makes me proud of who I’ve become. Being home reminds me of all the friends I’ve lost touch with, but makes me thankful of those I haven’t. And most of all, being home reminds me of the small town childhood I had, and makes me appreciate the big city life I now live.
You can go home when ever you’d like, but the truth is your memories of home will never be matched.
