Homecoming

I have written many times about the idea of home. This complex notion that seems to harass the heart and muddle the mind. Home is a haven of nostalgia. It's a safe place in the sense that you can choose your memories. The ugly is forgotten and replaced by the beautiful. The reasons you chose to leave seem to fade as all of the reasons you should have stayed make themselves clear. It is a clever trick of the mind. A trick that makes you question yourself, and all you have to rely on is your stubborn hope that leaving was right.

All of the missed birthdays, holidays, and grand life moments cannot be replaced. The absence of coffee, walks, and late night chats with childhood friends is forever painful. There are times when my heart aches for the love of my family and the comfort of my friends and I wonder why I even left in the first place. Despite the nagging doubts that ride on the back of nostalgia I hold true to the belief that leaving was the right thing for me to do. My desires refused to be ignored as I internally screamed for a life outside of my comfort zone. 

It was the way in which I left which was all wrong. A four month trip morphed into an international move. There will never be enough words to ease the pain of such a selfish plan. It's been over a year now and still I cringe with the shame of a rash decision made on the opposite side of the world. A decision made when I didn't have to face the consequences. Going home means facing the reality of chasing my dreams. It is without a doubt the most terrifying trip I have ever embarked upon. 

I am going home. Or to the place that was once my home. It may only be a three week trip but it stirs 27 years of emotion in my heart. Home means familiar faces and the streets I dream of. It means shattered relationships and a childhood room being packed into boxes. It means the end of one exceptional chapter and the beginning of the next. The mountains, sagebrush, and endless sky are calling to me and I have no choice but to answer.