"When you feel just like a tourist in the city you were born, then it's time to go."
That's a line from the song "Tourist" by Deathcab For Cutie. Quick sidenote, Deathcab For Cutie is the greatest name for a rock band since Green Apple Quickstep. It's not even up for debate.
I recently went home for a long weekend. Is it weird that I still consider it home when I've been in Indiana for almost 3 years? It is what it is, I guess. Indiana, though not a bad place to live, will never be my home. For one thing, the food is terrible. Food is very important to me. I like to eat. The Red Sox are also very rarely available on television. This is actually more important than the food issue. Finally, my entire family is back east. I miss them a lot. You never realize how important some things are until they aren't anymore.
That being said, this last trip was a little strange. Something didn't feel quite right. I'm not sure what it was. Maybe it's true that you can't go home again. Or, as Stephen King says, "Home is the place where, when you have to go back, they have to kill you." That's not as creepy as it sounds. It's really supposed to be some kind of metaphor. The reason it's important to leave your comfort zone is that it is impossible to grow as a person with the restraints put upon you by familiar surroundings. When you don't have the opportunity to experience new things, it's almost like a prolonged catatonic state. Challenges that you may confront are avoided for the simple comforts of a friendly and familiar smile. Leaving the nest irrevocably changes a person. Not saying that it's good or bad, it just does.
I never felt really comfortable in Massachusetts this time. It still looked like home. It smelled like home. I saw my parents and my sister and all my in-laws, who seem to have, for some reason, taking a liking to me. Something just didn't feel kosher. Maybe it's because we weren't there for long enough. Maybe it's because we've been gone too long. Maybe it's because we've romanticized home to the point where the reality can never live up to the expectation. Who knows.
The point is, I felt like a tourist, when I should have felt at home. This can mean one of two things. Either I am done with Mass. for good, or I need to get the hell out of Indiana, and fast, before it's too late.
I still carry the east coast with me. My accent is as strong, if not stronger than it used to be. I still religiously follow the Sox and the Celts and the Pats and the B's. I still read the Herald, the only paper in Boston by the way, Pravda doesn't count, even if they do own part of the Red Sox. I miss the food. I miss Dunkin Donuts on every street corner. I miss the radio stations and sports on tv. I miss my family and friends. I don't miss the politics, or the fact that we were always broke. Not that we're not always broke now, or that I like the politics in Indiana, but it's a little bit easier here than there.
It felt strange driving through the town I used to live in. Everything seemed familiar, and yet foreign. Some things had changed that I didn't even notice until they were pointed out to me. New buildings, different stores, things that you don't even notice unless you're paying attention, and maybe that's just it. Maybe, when I wasn't paying attention, everything changed. Or more likely, I did.
I think that everyone fells a certain disconnect when surrounded by strangeness. Maslow says that people are either able to cope with it, unable to cope with it, or they relish the challenge. Some people find excitement in change, others fear change, and still others simply accept it as a part of life. I haven't figured out where I fit in yet. Either in Mass. or Indiana, or in Maslows heirarchy of personalities, but I will at some point.
I will be home next month. This time I will be bringing the entire family, which is my entire life. I know one thing, wherever they are, my heart is, and that's as good as home to me. I will see then what's more important to me... where I am, or who I am there with. Many questions will be answered, but what will it change? Probably nothing, maybe something, maybe just me.