I’m especially thinking about this today, my first day home after four days visiting my family where I grew up. We lived there for four years after being away for six years. That was the first time I truly understood “you can never go home again”. It was still a good place and we made new memories, but it was hard adjusting to the fact that all these people had six years of memories that didn’t include me. Six years when we all grew up, got married, and had kids.
It’s been 15 years since we moved away for the last time. So much has changed. My head says I should feel like I belong in this place, but my heart says it’s all wrong.