That's why when I took a week off to go home last week, handing over the reigns and responsibilities to co-workers seemed near impossible. Would they dedicate that around-the-clock attention that I usually give? Would *I* be able to not dedicate that around-the-clock attention and actually disconnect?
My mom planned a camping trip deep in the Pacific Northwest for the first three days of my visit, so I didn't really have a choice. We would have no cell service.
About an hour into the car ride, I posted my final Instagram photo (before a co-worker took it over for the rest of the week), and I decided to put my phone away. We still had service, but I thought I might as well and take the plunge. We cranked up the Bright Star cast recording (WE LIKE IT BECAUSE WE'RE FROM TEXAS OKAY) and shared some fascinating conversations.
It was freeing.
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| Me feeling bright and breezy on the beach with no service |
It was the perfect way to set the tone for a week at home. Being in a space surrounded by nothing but nature was exactly what I didn't know I needed. I guess I am a PNW kid after all. Even after we got back to my hometown (and service), it felt different than normal visits do. I usually feel overwhelmed of the odd, nostalgic fragments of memories that meet me when I'm at home: they include ex-boyfriends, former friends, and embarrassing moments where I wasn't 100% sure of who I was as a person. Sure, I still strategically maneuvered around Target so I didn't see kids from high school and let my mom make me breakfast, but there was another element layered on. It was something along the lines of gratefulness and appreciation.
I (for the most part) tried to be genuinely present and in the moment. I spent time with friends that I've known for 17 years. We ate, we laughed, we sang Sound of Music at the top of our lungs. We looked through old photos of us from elementary school and talked about what was going on in our lives. How things have changed, how things have stayed the same and how there are some parts of this world we'll never understand. As I sat taking in these moments, I internally acknowledged how grateful I was to have a space where I can be myself and a permanent, full-time support system. These people have seen me through everything: braces and frizzy hair, phases of being too-obsessed with boyfriends, graduation, and really great karaoke renditions of Stevie Wonder's "Superstition."
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| Since 1999 |
They were there when I was building towards the dream of New York City; just a cherished aspiration, ambition and ideal. I spent years sifting through possibilities that would lead to the Big Apple: learning the iconic choreography of Alvin Ailey's Revelations, flipping through pages of Seventeen magazines. Maybe because some of our dreams have become a reality, or maybe it's because old superficial relationships have been stripped out, but I was truly able to appreciate home this time around.
Home has always been a space to dream, and I felt new dreams bubbling up as I began packing to return home. 2016 has been jarring (in a number of ways - personal, the world, etc) and visiting the space where it all began is exactly what I needed to recharge (phone pun intended).
