you spend the first part of your life longing to leave, and the rest of it trying to get back.
we’re designed to leave — every chick leaves the nest, every gangly legged foal leaves the shadowy underside of her mother’s teat, every child becomes something new, forming new families, keeping gene pools sufficiently spread, a biological imperative dictating when and how we leave the safety of our parents’ home.
unlike my own boy, who left at 18 and went to the city and never came back, I came back, over and over. my parents were a harbour in a confusing world, their home a place I felt safe and comfortable in. how lucky was I.
in my teenage way, of course I screamed internally that I hated them, that I hated being told what to do, that I wanted to live my own life —
— but then, when it was time to go, I always came back. “you’re messing up the loungeroom,” my Dad would jest, or perhaps not, as he liked the place neat, which appealed to my own sensibilities and contrasted the houses with vinyl records out of their sleeves and wooden bowls of dope and running out of toilet paper and the one guy who used to piss the bed and put his mattress out to dry every morning or staying up all night with a group of friends talking shit under the stars.
yep, the family home was a place I could rest my head.
I never ran away so much as used to sneak out when the house was quiet, sliding one leg through the window, then the other, quietly, quietly, into the adult world with men who probably shouldn’t have accepted teenagers who left their parents’ houses in such a way, and sent me back.
“girl, you’re far too young for this, go home, go home.” you want them to say, not just the ones who wanted you in their bed, but the ones who chopped green with tiny scissors and showed you how to exhale smoke in rings, gandalfian
the temptation of the antithesis of my parents’ home was such a tug.
falling asleep on beaches under the moonlight, joints rolled on CD cases, listening to records, boys with skinny legs and tasting of surfboard resin and salt water, recording cassettes for me when I brought them blank.
me being taped over with a different music to my father’s house.
little chick, feathers growing, longing to launch from the nest, running home and hoping not to be caught, under the stars, the dawn birds chastising
and still — you spend the first part of your life longing to leave, and the rest of it trying to go back.
With Love,
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This struck my heart sp hard this morning. Just got back from my hometown and visiting my cousin a couple days ago. It tugs at me hard as well. So hard we have started looking for houses in the area. So glad you found home again and it feels so good though.
It sounds like moving might be just the right thing to do. It's not the first time you have spoken about moving, so perhaps just get the ball rolling, start tidying up to sell, make those first little steps so you don't regret it later.
I think it might. But, it is just not in the cards now for varied reasons. We are discussing it very seriously though and it will most likely happen within the coming years.
That's exactly how we ended up... A few years ago, started thinking...
I was tossed out at 17, went back at 18 once for a couple weeks, and then never again. My son left at 18.5 and spent 12 years couch surfing, before coming back. It looks like he's here to stay...
I left the valley at 17, first to Canada, the the west coast, then to Florida. I came back to the valley in 1983 and haven't left since. It's the valley that's home for me.
It's so lovely that you returned to what was absolutely home for you. I always feel so happy for people who are content and settled in a place that nourishes them and eases their heart.
So lovely!
I actually did go back. I moved back to my hometown, a stone's throw from my childhood home, into an aunt and uncle's house, where they raised their three chicks. My parents were both long gone, but I love it here. The memories - good memories unlike those of other places I have lived - infuse me daily. I'm so glad I did.
I hear that completely. After many years travelling and living overseas and considering all kinds of places to settle from Italy to Portugal to UK to Tassie, my coast is truly home. I'm glad you have landed 😊 in a place that is absolutely home too.
Whenever I leave it felt like a part of me was left behind and always longed to come back.
I get that completely. I didn't know how much I wanted home before I lived away.
You've been curated by @plantpoweronhive! Delegations welcome!
A few years ago I watched the movie "The perks of being a wallflower" and it struck me hard, the nostalgia of those days. I was living the contrary then, and I was not happy. I had cut my freedom short too soon, and was longing to get some back. I did get it, but only through causing quite the destruction. Not the best way either.
For me it was lying on the grass after taking a bath in the lake at 4am, when coming back from a party, and watch the sun come up again. Never to forget.
We do tend to cause mayhem sometimes in the search for our peace, which was there all along! Nostalgia can bite, but we learn to fully inhabit the present as we know it won't be too long before we will miss this moment too!!! So many good memories - like you lying in the grass - we are lucky to have, and the trick is to keep making them. Perhaps not with the intensity we did as we grew up, but still...
I make different ones here. Lying below the trees in Intag, sipping beer, with Ellie by my side. Building sand castles with Lily at the beach. There will be a time that I look back at those the same way I do to lying in the grass.