On Homesickness

I've experienced homesickness before: I remember in 6th grade, during a week-long science camp, missing home badly during the beginning of my stay. I remember hating having to share a cabin and becoming tearful when I thought about how I was away from my mother. But as the week wore on, my homesickness dissipated, and I was okay. Plus, I knew I would be going home shortly.

In college, when my mom and brother dropped me off for the first time, I nearly begged my mother to not leave me there and to just take me home and enroll me in junior college. Everything was so unfamiliar and scary at the same time that it was exciting. My fears and the homesickness wore off, though, as I made friends and got into my routine. And I was about a 2 hour drive from home, so I could return whenever I needed a fix. And I was so lucky to have Kjerste at a neighboring college so we could run amok whenever the mood struck us. Home, and the people who remind me of who I am, have never been that far away.

Until now. I don't live near the place that has been my home for so long, and with the exception of Todd, I'm in the place where nobody knows my name. So where is home? It's not Boston yet -- I just got here. I'm not even fully unpacked. And it's not the Bay Area either; I don't live there anymore.

Previous bouts of homesickness have been sharp and acutely painful -- an emotional stubbed toe. And like a stubbed toe, the pain has faded quickly, and I could almost forget that it hurt in the first place. The homesickness I've got now is a dull, full-body ache that I always carry with me, and that I notice more at some times than others. Like when I'm running. That's when I notice that the scenery of my daily existence is so different than it was before. All the landmarks by which I navigated aren't here. Or I notice it when I'd like to hear the voice of one of my friends, but realize that because of the time difference, they are likely out/at work/asleep, etc. So I don't pick up the phone, but instead try to imagine what they might be doing. Are they missing me too?

Sometimes I fall asleep at night imagining my old apartment. Remembering what it was like to live there. But I know that the apartment is just a symbol of my old life, my old routines, and the people that I miss. It always comforts me to think about it. Who knew that O-town could be my happy place? And then, in the morning, when my alarm goes off, I stumble past boxes and into the kitchen for coffee. I rummage through the wrong cabinet for a cup and I face the fact of all this newness alone in the early-morning darkness. And that is when I ache the most.